


Rosemary For Remembrance

by HerSistersKeeper



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Awkward Romance, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Inspired By Tumblr, Nobility, Political Alliances, Protective Poe Dameron, References to Hamlet, Renaissance Era, Rey Dameron, Romance, Secret Marriage, inspired by Daisy's Ophelia movie, inspired by Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-08-17 03:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16508906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerSistersKeeper/pseuds/HerSistersKeeper
Summary: Before he went off to war, Ben Solo, son of Duchess Leia, had told his childhood sweetheart that he'd never marry her if that kept her free.That was before she turned 20 though, and with a suitor posed to take her hand and possibly set off an irreparable series of events for the crown , Countess Rey Dameron isn't going to wait any longer. With Ben and her brother back from war, she is ready to fight to protect the throne-- and to win the heart of the only man she's ever wanted.An AU inspired by Daisy Ridley as Ophelia. Not quite a Shakespearean AU, but it's definitely inspired by it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The song that Rey sings in Ch.1 is from Hamlet, Act 4. It's the song that Ophelia sings after she has gone mad.

Lady Amilyn Holdo had seen many things in her time as lady-in-waiting to Duchess Organa. Engagements, war plans, whispered liaisons and duels at dusk had all taken place under her watchful eye since she had come of age with her mistress, though if you asked any of the maids and servants of the manor, they would swear to you that she was only thirty-six in age, not the near half century that she was. 

 

Amilyn credited that to knowing how to keep to herself, her blonde hair never giving away the streaks of silver that should have been on the crown of her head. Truly, her age never showed unless she frowned, her wise gray eyes flashing with displeasure. It was a rare occasion when she frowned, but nevertheless, in the damp and slowly brightening morning, she was fixing Lady Rey Dameron with one such look.

 

She knew that the young woman could see her despite being perched up in one of the garden’s fruit trees. In the early spring light, the noblewoman’s cheeks were flushing pink like the apple blossoms that she took cover in, and the look that she gave Amilyn was a beseeching one.

 

“Please, Amilyn, don’t give me away.” Rey looked down at the lady-in-waiting, who stood unflinching at the base of her tree. Both parties wished that this wasn’t a well-practiced routine, but it had been fifteen years since Count and Countess Dameron had lost their lives in a skirmish with a group of thieves and their swords, and so Rey had grown up a ward of the duchess.

 

If anything, this scene constituted a typical Sabbath. 

 

Really, Lady Rey was getting better at hiding herself, Amilyn had to admit. If she wasn’t accustomed to scanning the trees for foolhardy spies as the duchess took counsel in the garden, she would have missed the freckled visage of the little countess. Of course, the countess wasn’t so little anymore, and she had a reason to spy this particular morning. It was the only reason that Amilyn sighed, her face softening as she beckoned the young woman to climb down.

 

It was a fortnight from Rey’s twentieth birthday, and the duchess had been talking of her hand to yet another interested suitor’s father. Some would scoff and say that the girl was an old maid by now, that she should have been given away as a bride years ago, but Leia, the duchess, had promised the new Count Dameron that his sister would not be married off until she was twenty and he had returned from the war. 

 

When that promise had been made, Rey was a mere slip of a girl at age fourteen and her brother, Poe, had just newly turned 27. With how the war had dragged on, no one had really believed that she’d marry. If anything, they expected that Rey would have been in a convent by now, away from prying eyes as she mourned her brother’s inevitable death.

 

But Poe was very alive and due back from the war any day now. Amilyn sighed at the fact as she watched Rey slowly make her descent, shaking her head with exasperation and mirth as the girl dismounted the tree and turned to her.

 

“You stole your brother’s breeches again, m’lady.” 

 

Rey sniffed at the accusation, “I did no such thing.” Still, a smile was slowly stretching across her face and she primly swept a hand across the fabric. “In faith, they are from my Lord Solo’s drawers.”

 

“Reyna Dameron! We did not teach your fingers to be sticky!” Despite her scold, Amilyn chuckled, shaking a finger at the maid. “You’re lucky that the duchess loves you so. What would she say if she saw you in her son’s clothes?”

 

“That they’re ravishing on me, and he is still at war at my brother’s side so why shouldn’t I make use of them?” Rey’s voice lilted upwards on the supposed question, batting her eyelashes at the woman who had served as her governess since the days she toddled instead of ran.

 

Amilyn offered her arm to the younger woman, Rey willingly reaching for it so they could stroll arm in arm, in each other’s confidence, as if the elder hadn’t caught the younger in a tree again.

 

“And what will we tell Ben when he gets back from the war, hm?” The words were a light tease, and Amilyn simpered at the becoming blush that brightened on Rey’s cheeks. 

 

Ben was the only son of the duchess and the bearer of his late father’s title. He was three years younger than Poe, but taller and paler and just as handsome. In youth, he and Rey had a special affection for each other, and many around the manor whispered that a good match could be made between them. 

 

However, the duchess insisted that a marriage should not be made on childhood sweethearts. It was a fact that Amilyn disagreed with but would never tell her mistress. She was only there to serve, not intervene. She had learned that much in her time at the manor, and she would not leave that path now.

 

If anything, the only people who could possibly dissuade the duchess from her belief were either at war or on Amilyn’s arm right now.

 

“I will tell him that he’s gotten too fat for his breeches and so they had been given a better home.” Rey laughed at the light cuff that the back of her head received, Amilyn clicking her tongue in disapproval.

 

“You’re no longer a mere maid, Reyna. You cannot jest in meanness.” The lady fussed for a moment over the countess’ hair, brushing a wayward petal from the smooth tresses.  _ Her lady Rose must have brushed her hair this morning, _ she thought blithely, turning her eyes to inspecting Rey.

 

She spoke the truth--the lady was no longer a girl. In the six years since the war had began, she had shot up in height and manners, her lithe frame and sweet face not betraying the jesting tongue she had behind her unchapped lips. 

 

Poe had always shrugged off any concern that his younger sister had too sharp of a tongue, saying in her defense, “You won’t let me teach her how to wield a sword, so why should I curb the dagger that she keeps in her mouth? You’re only jealous that your wit is not as quick.”

 

Like a dagger, Rey had used her wit to keep suitors at bay until now. Amilyn would be lying if she didn’t have a bet running with the lady’s personal maids as to how many suitors would be sent storming off. 

 

Yet, no matter how many were sent off in a huff, there was always more to replace them. That was the problem with being a noblewoman who was a ward of a duchess, Amilyn supposed. There was always someone vying for the crown in some way, and if it was through a countess who was possibly eleventh or twelfth in line for it (once you went through all the dukes, duchesses, their male children and wards and so on, of course)... then so be it.

 

Rey squeezed Amilyn’s hand now, bringing the lady from her thoughts, a frown marring itself deep into her cheeks. 

 

“Please, Amilyn, tell me about the man our grace was speaking with this morning.” There was that beseeching look again, and the lady cast her eyes up to the treeline again to excuse her gaze from not meeting the hazel one that was looking at her. She brushed her hand against the lavender colored skirt of her dress and cast her eyes doubtfully to the young woman.

 

“Are you sure you wish to know?” She asked, sighing at Rey’s eager nodding, dropping her voice low so that no one-- no servant, washerwoman or worse, the duchess herself-- could hear the conversation between them.

 

“That was the lord Snoke talking with our grace this morning. He has no natural child, but he does have a ward, a Sir Armitage Hux, who he has put forward to be your husband.”

 

Rey nodded slowly, her eyes glinting as she looked to Amilyn again. “What does he look like?”

 

“Sir Hux? He has red hair--” The lady-in-waiting barely got the words from her mouth when Rey scoffed, muttering:

 

“Red hair? I didn’t know that her grace wished to put a carrot in my garden--”

 

“Reyna!” Amilyn admonished, gasping loud and all but clapping a hand over the girl’s mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a pair of gardeners milling about, and she hastened to pull the squirming woman from the yard and through the door they were approaching.

 

The hallway that they entered was empty, thankfully, but still the elder pressed a finger to her lips, hushing any protest. After all, the stone halls echoed all too loud and though both women wanted to believe that everyone was truly loyal within these walls, they knew better.     
  
"Are they still talking of my dowry?" Rey whispered to Lady Holdo, whose eyes were trained everywhere but the young woman's face. She sighed, finally glancing back at her when she was satisfied that they were alone.   
  
"Yes, but only because the man wanted to speak of your maidenhead."   
  
"What has my maidenhead have to do with my worth as a bride?" Rey hissed back, ignoring the exasperated sigh that answered her. "Lady Phasma was a virge when she laid with her first husband and she says she had no maidenhead-- says she lost it while riding horses."   
  
"Lady Phasma's father had no sons and plenty of dowry to make any man overlook an untraditional upbringing. Her grace is trying to elevate you much higher than Lady Phasma."   
  
"My purity shouldn't have anything to do with it," Rey sniffed. "Why must mine be worth weight in gold when my own brother did not preserve his? If my virginity is gold, his is like a bowl of porridge to a line of beggars: generously given and to the first open mouth he found."

 

“Your humor is very foul this morning, my lady,” Amilyn sighed, shaking her head. She made a note to herself to corner Poe and demand why his younger sister would know of his bawdy habits, and insist that he curb them or not speak of them. It was improper, after all. 

 

Rey laughed at that, letting go of Amilyn’s arm now, her eyes sly and grin mischievous. “Dear lady, I thought you’d know that from my wearing breeches. If you wish, I could cause a bit more trouble.”

 

“Reyna, you are to be a bride in less than a year’s time. Your time for making trouble should be no more.” 

 

To an unpracticed ear, the words sounded like a scolding, but it was something more bittersweet than that. After all, it was not as if the young woman had an option of marriage or not. There really wasn’t a woman alive who had that option, but if it was, Amilyn would wish it for the girl before her.

 

“You say that, my lady, but my brother and his friend are due back any day, any hour now.” There was that grin again, the twinkle in her eye bright and fierce. “If you think that I won’t get in trouble when I am in their company, before I am wed, then we should let Artie the Jester go from his post.”

 

Another grin over her shoulder, and the young woman was skipping down the hall, singing all too loudly, as if her maidenhead wasn’t being auctioned off to the highest bidder, as if she was just a sprite darting from one magic source to another.

 

_ “Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s day _ ,

_ All in the morning betime _ ,

_ And I a maid at your window _ ,

_ To be your Valentine _ .

_ Then up he rose, and donned his clothes _ ,

_ And dupped the chamber door _ .

_ Let in the maid that out a maid _

_ Never departed more _ .”

 

Amilyn huffed a laugh to herself. Of all the bawdy songs to sing to wake the castle, of course it was one such as this. The only thing that she could think to console herself was that neither Ben or Poe had taught the girl this ditty. No, the countess had bothered one of the wet nurses for it years ago, when she was barely waist high, and so had begun her mischief.

 

In the distance, she could hear Rey laughing and her maids’ voices joining hers in cacophony, the attempts at scolding lost as the noblewoman issued instructions:

 

“You are to sing ‘a-down, a-down’, and you, Rose, shall sing ‘Call him a-down.’ We’ll make it a round.”

 

The lady-in-waiting didn’t bother to muffle her laugher now, hearing the other maids tittering as Rey continued on.

 

_ “By Gis and by Saint Charity _ ,

_ Alack, and fie, for shame! _

_ Young men will do ’t, if they come to ’t _ .

_ By Cock, they are to blame _ .

_ Quoth she, “Before you tumbled me _ ,

_ You promised me to wed.” _

_ He answers _ ,

_ “So would I ha' done, by yonder sun _ ,

_ An thou hadst not come to my bed.” _

 

Out in the yard, there were shouts of excitement, a calling of familiar names, and Lady Holdo was sure that if she strained to hear, she would be able to make out the stomping feet of horses riding up to the manor and through the gate. 

 

She turned to make down the hallway and paused, the sound of feet pattering up behind her. “Lady, please wait!”

 

It was Rey again, yanking a nightgown down over the clothes she still wore, her face newly washed and pinked with a smile. She caught the waiting lady’s arm again, murmuring a question. “Can you see my breeches?”

 

Amilyn snorted, taking a glance down to check. “In truth, no, I cannot. But do not run or else they’ll notice.”

 

“Who? The men that have returned or the men that I am meant to impress and give my dowry to?” She didn’t let the lady respond, shrugging instead. “I’m already improper for rushing out of bed to see who makes this much noise at so early an hour. They can deal with the impropriety if my breeches show.”

 

Amilyn rolled her eyes, but still she clutched the girl’s hand tightly as they made their way out to the courtyard together. Yes, she had seen many things in her lifetime, and she counted it as a blessing that she was a witness to seeing the talkative countess fall silent with wonder, if but for a moment, at the broad-shouldered man who sat astride a dark horse.

 

Lord Solo. Back again and even more handsome than Rey could have possibly remembered him. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm a giant literature nerd, I couldn't help but model Rey's comments about husbands with beards after Shakespeare's character Beatrice in "Much Ado About Nothing." Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you like it!

Poe Dameron considers himself observant when it comes to the important things. True, he couldn’t tell you if that barmaid that he just tumbled was the wife or daughter of the tavern owner or if he had left his book out in the garden while it rained, but he could tell you a great many things. 

 

For instance, he could tell you (and gleefully too) how his dear friend and somewhat brother, Ben Solo, had fallen off his horse in his haste to get down and greet Rey. He and his squire, Finn, exchanged a look as the noble Solo attempted to scramble to his feet, only his pride hurt as the young woman looked on, the smirk being confirmation enough for Poe.

 

His sister, despite growing taller and fairer in his time away, was still the same sprite as always. He should have known that by how she was greeting them in her nightgown despite the scandalized looks of the few lesser nobles who also made their home in the manor’s keep. The only ones looking unperturbed (and perhaps even crafty, he wondered, noticing the interesting shape of clothes under the nightgown) were his sister’s ladies, Phasma and Rose, who stood next to the duchess’ own lady, Amilyn.  As if Rey could sense his doubt, her mouth opened and she spoke.

 

“Truly, my lord, I never expected the mighty Kylo Ren to fall at my feet in surrender so quickly. Do you mark that, brother?” Her green eyes were mirthful and she playfully nudged at the man before her with her foot. “Hardly a word between us and you have surrendered. And I was looking forward to our verbal spar.”

 

“The voice is the same, but instead of the little chit that we left behind, it seems we find a fairy queen, Poe.” Ben called back, turning his head to look at the older Dameron. He was still on his knees, and Poe could see the light of some rapturous admiration in his eyes. Bewitched as always.

 

“Poe, you promised to bring back a fierce warrior called Kylo Ren, who makes others quake in fear in the heat of battle. You lied, and only brought back Ben in shiny armor.” Rey reached a hand out, not caring about the dirt and grime on Ben’s glove as she helped pull him to his feet.

 

“I’m sorry, sister. To be fair, I was hoping that the ruse would work, but Ben just had to fall from his steed. Perhaps you bewitched us before we left, cast some magic to keep us forever honest with you.” The man stepped around his friend, throwing his arms wide to embrace his sister.

 

She received his hug happily, grimacing as he pecked her cheeks. “You grew a beard, and I do not like it.”

 

“I had a beard when I left for the war too,” he reminded her, chuckling at how she shook her head.

 

“That was more like fuzz, sheep wool that you and Ben dyed and attached to your chins. At least my lord had the common sense to keep his chin clear and soft, with only a bit of hair on his upper lip. You look like a bear,” she huffed, casting a look over her shoulder at Ben, who still hadn’t looked away from her.

 

“You credit him with too much. I’m still surprised that Ben is able to grow a moustache.” Poe caught his friend by the arm, pulling him in close and looping an arm around his shoulders. In a moment, the nobleman was being pulled down, closer to Rey’s level as her brother presented Ben to be inspected.

 

“Remember how smooth his face was in yesteryears? He only could grow a moustache after killing a man, I think.” Poe laughed at his own joke, Rey brushing it off with a wave of her hand.

 

“Let him go, brother. He is not some maid to make sport of. Or your squire to torture.” She turned to Finn, who had come to stand at his master’s elbow dutifully. She smiled at him fondly, leaning forward to mutter something in his ear, and Poe wasn’t sure if it was an apology for his behavior or if it was a promise that Rose, the pretty maid in Rey’s employ, was still besotted with his squire.

 

Still, she turned to face the dearest people in the universe, hands on hips as she smiled. “Now that you two are home, I can put my prayers on more important things. Like marriage.”

 

“Is my mother still looking for a man to take you?” Ben’s voice almost seemed like a jolt in the conversation, his deep timbre unaccustomed to the wild teasing that the siblings would hurl back in forth. Poe knew, by the look of his friend’s face, that Ben wasn’t quite sure if he wanted the answer to be a yes or a no. 

 

Granted, Poe only knew that some time in the past, Rey had told Ben that he was the only man she’d ever willingly marry. Ben, being the noble and foolish boy he had been six years before, had sworn never to take her hand, if it meant that she could live free and unmarried. 

 

Needless to say, Poe could also remember how his younger sister had come to him crying that day, with Ben paying him a visit the next day, white-faced and cursing his ignorance. He couldn’t remember what counsel he had given to them, how he had been able to send them away content and at ease, but he could see the look in his sister’s eyes.

 

So neither had forgotten the promise. Of course not. Especially not now that the deadline that the duchess had imposed for Rey’s marriage looming over them.

 

Still, Rey’s answer was bright, untroubled, “For the time, there is no one who wishes to take me, though there have been many who tried. But now that you’re back, I can focus both my morning and night prayers on praying away a husband, instead of asking our Lord to keep you two from harm.”

 

“Have you been praying  _ for  _ a husband, rather than against?” Poe teased, pushing Ben forward a touch. “Perhaps I have delivered more than a warrior for you, sister.”

 

“We both know that our lord Solo will have none of me,” she teased back, reaching up to tweak Ben’s nose anyways, giggling at how he flushed.

 

“Well, if you’re praying against a husband, then what are you praying for?” Ben asked, his look steady on her face, as if he was trying to spot every change that had taken place while he was away, every freckle that could have possibly shifted elsewhere.

 

“I’m praying for anything but a husband with a beard. I would rather my sheets be replaced with scratchy wool and briars than to be married to rough-faced man,” She joked, shaking her head at Poe as he joked back.

 

“Shall I get you a husband who cannot grow a beard yet?”

 

“Just so I can play dress up and pretend that he works alongside Phasma and Rose? I think not. If he is more than a boy, he is not for me, and if he is less, then I am not for him. You know this, brother.”

 

“Which is why I offer Ben up as a balance. He has no beard but he is still a man.” Ben cleared his throat at this, shaking his head.

 

“I have to agree with your sister’s refusal. I did make a promise, and I have to honor that.” He looked almost shy, and Poe faltered for a moment, wondering if he should leave the two alone, see if they could come to an understanding. Or better yet, save everyone a few headaches and a few betted coins and just take off in the night with each other.

 

Still, he poked his friend. “What if I make you promise to marry my sister? Will you honor that as well?”

 

Ben seemed to be rolling the question around in his head. He opened his mouth, but the answer didn’t come from, instead from a matronly voice: “He could not, but only because he would need to honor his mother’s wishes first.”

 

“Your grace,” he heard Rey mutter, Ben echoing the greeting as their heads dipped in greeting. The duchess smiled at Poe, who still looked at her, no bow quite yet. That could come after a jest.

 

“Madam, did you turn villain and sell my sister to the devil? He is the only one with enough mischief to manage her.”

 

Leia laughed warmly at the question, shaking her head at him before turning to embrace her son. The mother and son clasped each other tightly, and Poe stood aside patiently. He knew his answer would come soon enough.

 

“In faith, dear sir, I didn’t extend the invitation to Lucifer. Perhaps I shall try that soon.” Leia’s eyes landed on Rey, who again bowed, letting her eyes only shift upwards when the older woman patted her face.

 

“I do think I finally found a husband for you, my dear. We shall wait, of course-- he has to travel, and you must age just a fortnight more, but soon enough, you shall be a bride.”

 

Rey’s lip seemed to tremble for a moment, but if it was to be a sob, Poe certainly didn’t know, his sister instead casting her eyes down, the perfect image of resignation and gratitude. “Thank you, your grace.”

 

“Excuse me, but I must take my leave.” Ben’s voice was sudden, and Poe looked at him stunned, as did Rey and the duchess. The man cleared his throat, seemingly painfully aware of how loud he had been, but he didn’t wait for permission, instead turning on his heel. He grasped the reins of his horse and lead the steed away, back to the stables, even as his squire Mitaka followed, insisting that his lord didn’t have to commit to the trouble.

 

Yes, Poe considered himself observant of the important things. And he would tell you that Ben Solo was attempting to flee from news that he felt unable to change. 

 

He didn’t say as much to Leia or Rey, instead turning to them with a smile. “I’m sure that my horse should also be cared for. Is there to be a feast tonight, your Grace?”

 

“Tomorrow. We need another day to prepare a proper celebration for you. Tonight, it will be only us… and the gentleman who is to be your sister’s betrothed.”

 

Rey’s smile seemed to echo Poe’s, both tense, cheeks pulled taut in a show of merriment even if it didn’t reach the eyes. Still, she stayed by the duchess’ side, watching her brother take his horse and lead him away as well, the air hanging over them thick with a light fog and impending changes. 

 

A merry homecoming, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Ben comes a bit more into focus next chapter. 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr as hersisterskeeper! (Even if you just message me to tell me to update or something.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been a while, and I'm so sorry for the wait. After working through some personal things and more, I've finally found my way back to AO3. Whether you're a fan of this story or of my others, rest be assured that all are getting updated (although some more quickly than others...like this one).
> 
> I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Also, a good bit of Ben's and Poe's conversation came from/was inspired by "Much Ado About Nothing," which is honestly one of Shakespeare's best (and my favorite, if you can't tell).

The private stables smelled of fresh straw and warm dirt, the sun finally breaking through the clouds and gracing the newly turned noon with warmth and light. Ben would have much preferred the source of it to be the young countess, but he knew better than to seek Rey out. Not now. It had been too long.

 

His hand smoothed the heavy brush across his horse’s back, the animal huffing before resuming its fixation on the pile of hay before it, unconcerned that its master had brushed him several times, that the squire who ought to be grooming it had been sent away after helping Ben out of his armor. The man sighed, a small smile attempting to pull up his mouth, but his brow was too furrowed, his attention too focused on the lady who had greeted him at the gates.

 

His heart still seemed to pound relentless in his chest, even though it had to have been more than a few minutes since Reyna had looked on him, her hazel eyes as bright and as clear now as they had been in his dreams the past six years. He would be a fool to deny that there were not changes in the young woman-- she had shot up in height, her hair was longer and more auburn than brown, her face no longer as tawny as when she played with her brother and him in the apple orchard. 

 

She reminded him now of some beautiful painting, some fresco they had passed on the journey home, and he wondered briefly how one of the Renaissance painters that he read of-- Da Vinci, Raphael-- would depict her. He quickly resolved that thought-- the masters would not be able to capture the sweetness that sat on his lady’s cheeks-- before scolding himself for even daring to think of her as ‘his lady,’ keeping his head down and his eyes focused on the brush in his hands. 

 

Drawing nearer was the clopping of another horse’s hooves, and Ben didn’t have to guess who was joining him, Lord Dameron’s voice ringing out clear enough: “So the mighty Kylo Ren runs from skirmishes now that he is home. May we never be attacked in our beds then.”

 

Ben Solo prided himself on never running from trouble. When he was younger, a wooden sword at his hip instead of this one of steel, when his steed was a broom stolen from one of the cooks and his dominion was the garden, he often found more than enough trouble to confront on a day to day basis. With Poe at his side and Rey as the damsel in their games, there was nothing that the young lord couldn’t face.

 

But those times had past, and there were other thoughts, other troubles at hand that his young foolish brain had not considered. Like love. He lifted his eyes to scowl at Poe, the other man chuckling to himself as he lead his horse to the adjacent stall. 

 

“You know I jest, my lord. But apparently even my jokes cannot raise you. Why do you look so downcast when we have just returned home? I thought you said that you would be the happiest man in Christendom if you could return to your mother’s house without harm,” Poe’s voice was light but his eyes rested heavy on Ben, especially now that Ben looked at his feet. 

 

There was a lump in his throat, and he wondered if he had done some wrong on the battlefield to be cursed with such an experience as confessing to his best friend that he-- simple, silly, over his head Ben-- was in love with a woman… especially considering that woman was his best friend’s sister.

 

He was saved from answering by Finn, Poe’s squire, coming to aid his master in removing his armor, the weight of battle seemingly now taken off both lords. With a nod to both Poe and Ben, Finn departed, the load heavy but not unmanageable, especially as Ben heard the giggling of a maid outside, and the faint whispers of conversation blooming as Finn and Reyna’s lady Rose departed in each other’s company.

 

Love was much simpler for servants, and Ben idly wondered if it were too late to become one himself. 

 

Instead, he looked back at Poe, whose dark eyes hadn’t left him, a smirk still on his face. Ben groaned.

 

“Do you really want an answer, you lovable villain?”

 

“Yes, or else I wouldn’t have asked my question.” Poe closed the stall door behind him, saddle and reins already put away, and crossed the stable to lean against the door frame of Ben’s stall. “You seem to be in a tormented state, my lord, and I only wish to ease your mind.”

 

Poe knew well enough what would probably come from his friend’s lips--they had discussed Rey enough the past six years to know that she would have to be addressed sooner than later-- but still, Ben seemed to beat around the bush, faltering in his brushing before continuing on, muttering.

 

“Did you note your sister, the Lady Dameron?” 

 

Poe chuckled, rolling his eyes. “As she is my sister, not only did I note her, but I looked on her too.”

 

“Has she not become a modest young lady?” Ben frowned at how Poe laughed now, the man shaking his head. 

 

“Do you want me to answer honestly, as you wish to know unbiased thoughts, or do you ask me as a brother who would adore his sister even if she was struck with madness?”

 

“I ask you to answer with an unbiased nature, if you are able.” Ben knew it was a mistake to approach the conversation this way, especially at the sly look on Poe’s face as he considered.

 

“Well, as her brother, I think she is too low for a high praise, too little for a great praise and a smidge too tan for a fair praise. Were she other than she is, she’d be ugly, and being no other than she is, she is my sister and has my good looks.” Poe grinned wide at his friend’s answering groan and swat, now ducking as the horse brush came flying at him when he laughed.

 

“You think I am joking,” Ben muttered, flushing as Poe laughed again, his tan face still split wide in a grin as he asked:

 

“Are you hoping to buy her that you ask after her the way you do?” 

 

Ben paused, looking down at his now empty hands and then back up to Poe. His voice was quiet, almost hesitating, not unlike how Poe had heard his friend pray before. “Can the world buy such a beauty?”

 

“Yes, and a case to put her into, if you want. But why are you asking me as if you’re unsure you can believe yourself? You have always liked my sister,” Poe noted, leaning closer, almost conspiratorially. “Do you have intent to wed?”

 

“No.” Ben watched Poe’s face fall and then darken, as if personally offended. He sighed, throwing up his hands. “She would not have me even if I did have intent.”

 

“And how do you know? Did you have such correspondence during the war that told you such? Or are you being a baby and deciding that now another man may stake a claim, it’d be dishonorable to come forth with your own?” Ben waved a hand at Poe, the latter’s exasperated yell probably enough to still some servants and their activities, interests piqued and ears perked. 

 

“She is not mine to claim. She was not mine to claim before the war, and she is not mine to claim now.” Ben rolled his eyes at Poe’s huff. “I mean it, Poe. She is her own, and I promised that I would not take her so that she can remain her own.”

 

“And how has that fared for you and she, my lord? Not well, as she is being auctioned off by your mother to some other party and you come back only to pout like a petulant babe,” Poe scoffed, shaking his head. “Tell me plainly: do you like my sister?”

 

“I liked your sister before I went to war, but then I was looking on her as a soldier would, and I didn’t have enough sense to think past that. But now…” Ben paused, leaning on his horse with a sigh. “I love her. I have returned from war and without battles and skirmishes in mind, I can actually think clearly on what my heart has been saying all along.”

 

“Amen, by god, you fool.” There was that grin on Poe’s face again, and then his face clouded. “If I had not given the task of finding a man for my sister to your mother, I would tell you to go forth and woo. I cannot do that with a clear conscience or assured safety. Your mother would surely beat me herself if she heard us talking.”

 

“What good will this do us then, Poe? You heard my mother-- she already found another man for Rey, and won’t even consider another match--” Ben paused, Poe’s finger to his lips.

 

“Can you stop whining for a moment and consider the options we have before us?” Poe huffed at Ben’s glare.

 

“Tell me, Dameron: what options do we have?”

 

Poe pushed himself back from the stall door, stepping now into a short pace as he thought. “One: we steal a fresher horse for you to ride and you kidnap my sister at midnight-- I jest, stop looking at me like that-- or two: we let my sister do as she will.” 

 

Ben’s brows knit together and then smoothed, realization slipping into place. “She’s against her match as much as we are.”

 

“Yes, Solo-- even a blind man could have seen her hesitation.” He patted Ben on the shoulder, beckoning him out of the stall. “As you said, she is her own. She is of her own mind and desires, and if she can cross the match herself, by God, she’ll do it.”

 

Ben felt his smile return and he let it sit on his mouth, his lips parting to chuckle now as Poe added, “Of course, it would help if a certain war hero wooed her and reminded her of his love… but what do I know of love? I am only your brother in arms.”

 

“And hopefully, soon my brother-in-law.” Both men laughed, stepping into the sunshine again, the day’s brightness causing them to squint.

 

In a moment, their eyes opened again to see Rey standing a little ways off, under one of the garden’s arches, shaking her head at them. She was no longer wearing a nightgown--Ben recalled the scandalized looks from the courtyard with a smirk-- and was instead dressed more appropriately in a light blue frock, her hair pinned back, her bare face mischievous. 

 

“Of course you men emerge from the stable, you right pair of asses,” she teased, uncrossing her arms as she approached them with a smile. “Against my will I am sent to bid you come to dinner.”

 

“Fair Rey, I thank you for your pains,” Ben answered, watching how her steps falter, her eyes seeming to widen. In a moment, her eyes were narrowing, as Poe choked on a laugh.

 

Resting a hand on her hip, Rey lightly scoffed, teasing, “I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me. If it were painful, I would not have come.” 

 

She laughed now at Ben’s chastened face, coming close to him now to pinch his cheek. “I know you lords always think you come back from war cleverer and wiser, but I was put on this world to remind you that is not the case.”

 

She turned to say something to her brother, but he was gone, walking ahead. Rey turned back to Ben, startled now by how soft his lips were on her hand as he caught it from his cheek. His eyes seemed darker than they had before, and she felt her cheeks flush like some maid from a bard’s ballad.

 

In a moment, her hand was back at her side and he was offering his arm and smiling at her... But she shook her head, returning the smile just as sweetly.”I promise, my lord, I will join you and my brother in a moment. I admit that I had ulterior motives when coming to the stables-- my horse has been a bit ill, and I wished to check on her-- though I do take pleasure in my message. Go, and I will follow in a moment.” 

 

Perhaps he did look on her oddly, and Rey wondered if he was trying to think if he had seen a sick horse in the stables, but that look passed, and he merely bowed, like he had when they were children and he had just asked to rescue her. “Of course, lady.”

 

He turned, seemed unsure and as if he had another word to say, but instead, he shook his head and walked on. When he was through the arch, Rey turned and rushed into the stables, murmuring loudly when she was within: 

 

“Jessika! Are you still here?” 

 

From a pile of hay in the corner popped the dark head of one of her ladies, straw clinging to her hair and dress, lips split wide in a grin. “Aye, my lady!” 

 

Rey laughed, scurrying over to the girl and pulling her up, the two now tidying up the lady-in-waiting’s appearance. “They did not see you? Please, Jessika, tell me they didn’t see you.”

 

“Not a whit. Finn distracted your brother and Lord Solo was intent on looking at his feet. I crawled through that opening--there-- and hid so well,” Jessika laughed, leaning forward with a gleeful whisper. “I will tell you more in your chambers tonight, I promise, lady-- but he does lo--”

 

Rey stopped Jessika’s mouth with a gentle hand, shaking her head. “Let us be quiet for now, dear Jess. Who knows what other ears are listening?”

 

Chastened, Jessika nodded solemnly, and with another dust off, the two young women departed the stables, arm in arm. A few paces though, and they laughed, the grins they exchanged giddy with confirmation. Rey clutched her maid’s hand tightly, her smile almost hurting her cheeks even as she tried to quell it when passing Lady Holdo, who looked on her with a raised eyebrow but a smile all the same.

 

After all, what mischief could the little countess have done between getting dressed and coming to dinner? 

 

_ Plenty,  _ Rey thought, her curtsy proper and maybe a bit too innocent as she walked on to the great hall, the hand that Ben kissed tingling all the while. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you truly suggest to Ben to steal me away in the night?” Rey glanced at her brother, watched him try to quell a smile and fail. She laughed, shaking her head. “You know he is too honorable to do that.”
> 
>  
> 
> With Rey meeting her newest suitor at suppertime, there is the question of what Ben will or won't do to prevent a match.

Poe forgot how busy and bustling the castle could be, even on a seemingly quiet day. He was used to a different kind of busy-- a sort of idleness where you kept your hands busy until the next battle, the next ambush, the next task that your king commanded of you.

 

The activity that he observed now, leaning on an upper railing, looking down into the keep below, was much more akin to the busyness in an anthill. Below him trailed various servants, maids and pages going about their business, hands full and minds content with their assignment.

 

To one side, Duchess Organa was lording over the scene, shaking her head and gesturing to the workmen setting up tables for tonight’s dinner, her lady Amilyn waiting at her elbow to assist. She was conferring with one of his sister’s ladies, their heads leaned towards one another like flowers before the sun shined on them.

 

Even if he strained his ears, he would not even manage to make out the words of a garbled shout, the cacophony of voices a buzz, like a hive of worker bees thrumming. Considering how he was used to the sound of clashing metal, war cries and the like, he much preferred this din. He could even say that he missed it.

 

Still, this was hardly a spectacle, especially if the duchess was planning a proper feast on the morrow. The noblewoman was known for her parties, her celebrations, and Poe could expect a steady stream of guests, courtesans from neighboring manors and perhaps even passing soldiers, still returning.

 

For a moment, the lord wondered if the king and his company would be joining them, as he and Ben had taken their leave early with the king’s permission, the old man’s satisfied and proud nod still clear in his memory. That, and with how close the King held the Organa-Solo family, it would not be a surprise if the monarch graced this great hall the next night.

 

Despite himself, Poe smiled to himself, remembering how King Windu had teased him. “You must introduce me to your sister, Lord Dameron. If she is as clever as you say she is-- and as pretty as Lord Solo says,” he said, pausing as a laugh went up at Ben’s expense, a flush and grin clear on the teased man’s face, “then perhaps we will want her at court.”

 

The king’s advisor, Duke Kenobi, had smiled kindly at Poe and Ben before they took their leave, and despite the warmth of the look, Poe wondered now if he had seen some fear in the man’s eyes. There had been some whispers of rumored treason, that some devious soul planned to seize the crown during war, when the king was away, but it had not come to pass.

 

Duke Kenobi had muttered at some point in the previous month that perhaps the rumors were truly only rumors...or perhaps they were to lull some false security. That perhaps the threat was waiting for the war to end before stepping out of the darkness.

 

Still, there was no need for _him_ to be worried, Poe reasoned. True, through being a ward of the duchess, he and his sister were in line for the throne-- but there were many other people to step up before it became so desperate. He, if he remembered, was tenth in line, with Rey just behind him.

 

He rubbed his jaw, wondered if he should ask Luke, Ben’s uncle and their chaplain during war, to look at the records, to correct him if he was wrong, but he put the thought away. There was no need to worry. There was peace. He was safe, as were the people closest to him, and he had the betrothal of his sister to focus on more. He scratched his beard once more and straightened up, hearing soft footsteps approach.

 

Poe wasn’t sure if the torches in the great hall burned brighter now than they had before, if it was a trick of his mind, still used to the scant light in the war camps he had just barely returned from. However, he was aware that his sister seemed to beam brighter now, grinning as she slipped beside him, glancing over the railing as well.

 

She certainly was no longer a little girl, Poe mused, a swell of pride and a small burst of dread alighting in his chest. In two short weeks, she would be twenty and possibly married. Still, instead of expressing such tender sentiments, the brother reached over, tweaking Rey’s ear.

 

“What mischief have you gotten into since noontime, you little chit?” He teased, chuckling at the soft cuff to the ear he received in turn.

 

Even Rey’s scowl was charming, an angry blush dusting her face brightly. “No mischief-- close your mouth, brother, you shall catch flies.”

 

She harrumphed at his answering scoff, leaning on her elbows as she looked out across the activity below. “Truly. I have behaved and minded my own. Our lady had me take a bath to prepare for our guest tonight and my ladies would not let me out of their sight, I promise.”

 

“Fair enough, I suppose. Then you wouldn’t know where Ben is…” Poe’s smirk was wide at Rey’s almost immediate answer:

 

“He’s in the garden with a book, and has been there for at least two hours.”

 

“Oh? How do you know, Reyna, you little elf? I thought you were bathing,” he pinched her arm again and she pinched back, flushing a deeper red.

 

“Rose told me so that I could talk to him if I so pleased, but Jessika took too long brushing my hair,” she huffed, crossing her arms, adding moodily now, “I haven’t had a word with him to myself since you have come home and I have missed him.”

 

“Methinks you missed him more than you missed me, sister.”

 

“Perhaps I did. He didn’t bother me as much as you do, you gadfly.” Rey swatted at her brother playfully, the right corner of her mouth tugging up in a smile despite herself. Then her brow furrowed, her mouth turning down as she thought for a moment.

 

“He has changed, hasn’t he, Poe?”

 

“For the better, I would think, Reyna,” he answered gently, lifting a hand to smooth a wayward curl from his sister’s face. “He’s much wiser and more patient than he was when we left.”

 

“I can see that, Poe-- I am not blind,” she replied, an exasperated huff slipping from her lips. “But I have changed too, and what if he doesn’t like me as he used to?”

 

“If you want me to tell you how he likes you even better now, sister, then perhaps you should have hid in the stables instead of your maid Jess.” Poe bit back a smirk at his sister’s aghast face, holding up a hand to quiet her protests. “You certainly are as clever as ever, but Jessika is not as stealthy as she thinks.”

 

“Besides, you only had to ask me about what Ben and I had talked about and I would have told you.” Poe pinched Rey’s cheek fondly, chuckling at her pout. “No spying necessary.”

 

“I only wanted to know, since I knew Ben would never tell me,” Rey muttered sullenly, pushing herself from the railing and smoothing her hands across her dress, her green dress soft under her touch. She glanced up at her brother, biting her lip before murmuring, “I do not wish to marry anyone besides him.”

 

“And he would rather you not marry anyone besides him as well. He loves you, Reyna. Not even a war could change that,” Poe soothed, his sister sighing in response.

 

“Aye, but you heard the duchess. I have a suitor dining here tonight, and she is hopeful that he will take me as his own.” Rey waved off her brother’s frown, shaking her head with a soft laugh at his question.

 

“Do you know anything about him?”

 

“Only that he has red hair, and is a ‘sir’ and not a ‘lord’,” Rey replied, sighing as her brother hummed in thought. “It seems that I have the better title than he does, and I do not understand why the duchess would want me to marry someone below our title, rather than someone higher.”

 

“For money, Reyna. If a man’s purse is heavy enough, he can buy a better title through marriage,” Poe shared a grimace with Rey, the two slipping into silence for a moment.

 

“Did you truly suggest to Ben to steal me away in the night?” Rey glanced at her brother, watched him try to quell a smile and fail. She laughed, shaking her head. “You know he is too honorable to do that.”

 

“You’re right-- perhaps you should be the one to steal him away,” Poe answered, grinning at his sister’s laughter, pulling her close in an embrace. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, muttering in her ear.

 

“I will never let you marry a man you do not want to, Rey. I promise you this.”

 

“Don’t make promises you have no power to keep, brother,” Rey pulled back, looking up at her older brother, face somber. “I know my place in this world, and though I will fight it, we cannot guarantee anything when it comes to my betrothal.”

 

She squeezed his hand as trumpets blared in the courtyard outside, her smile a touch sad. “That must be him. Shall we welcome him with our closed arms? Perhaps I can run through the rosebush and greet him with briars in my hair.”

 

“I doubt that would dissuade him, sister. You’re too much like a nymph for such a thing to be off-putting.” Still, Poe offered his arm to her, nodding with faux solemnly. “To your execution?”

 

“To my death,” Rey agreed with a smile, accepting his arm and allowing him to lead her down the stairs. She could feel eyes on her from all sides, but that didn’t matter-- it only mattered that she now looked up and found Ben’s eyes on her. She let herself smile wider, tucking the gaze closer to her heart, Poe’s promise pounding in her ears.

 

* * *

 

Ben instantly knew that he didn’t much care for the the suitor his mother had found for Rey. It was doubtful that he would say as much to his mother, now as he sat by her right side at the supper table, but he was sure that she could tell by his glare. He hadn’t so much glanced down at his plate the entire evening, his eyes fastened on either Rey or the red-haired man sitting beside her.

 

To her credit, Rey seemed to be performing dutifully-- at least, Ben hoped that she was only performing, only pretending, her eyes on her lap, her gaze only lifting every so often to answer her suitor, to blush prettily. Next to her, Poe sat, looking on, the furrow of his brow being the only tell that he did not like the suitor anymore than the rest of them.

 

Sir Armitage Hux was certainly handsome. Ben could give his mother credit for finding someone who looked nice next to Rey, but nothing more. Armitage’s lips had lingered far too long on Rey’s hand when he had kissed it upon meeting her, and he had seemed surprised that Poe and Ben were present, his green eyes blinking slowly as Rey had murmured that they had just returned home that morning.

 

He had his manners, yes, and had greeted everyone perfectly, but there was something about him that Ben just didn’t like. His mother would tell him that was merely jealousy, as would his uncle, but as he watched Rey seemingly shrink besides Armitage, the man not paying the slightest bit of attention, he knew that there was something wrong.

 

His jaw worked, and it truly wasn’t a wonder that he had no appetite.

 

“Your grace,” the murmur was quiet, and Ben jerked his head up, turning to look at the round face of Phasma, the tallest of Rey’s ladies. He had wondered at one point or another if the woman was actually a guard but by a different name, her shoulders broad and her manner always a bit more taciturn than Rose or Jessika’s.

 

Still, she smiled at him now, leaning over to mutter, “The musicians have just come in, and I was instructed by Count Dameron to tell you so.”

 

Ben looked at her dumbly, and the woman sighed, shaking her head, her bunned hair barely moving with the motion. “He wishes for you to ask my lady to dance before Sir Hux may.”

 

Ben glanced quickly over at Poe, who was staring back with raised eyebrows. In a moment, Poe was turning away, offering his hand to Jessika and leading her to the open floor before the tables.

 

It was a wonder in itself that Ben didn’t knock over his cup of wine--or his mother’s-- in his haste to stand, quickly rounding the table to stand besides Rey, who now looked up at him, mouth opening in a question.

 

“My lady, would you honor me with this dance?” Her eyes seemed to sparkle at the question, a simper resting on her lips as she reached her hand out to take his-- but in a moment, her gaze was off him and back on Armitage, who now had a grip on her other hand.

 

“Lady Rey, you were saying that you could show me the garden after supper, before I leave for my trip tomorrow.” From how Rey’s brows knit together, Ben doubted that she had actually promised anything of the sort, but still, they remained, frozen.

 

Armitage’s eyes were colder than their green shade would have lent them to be, but his glare was clear enough. It was perhaps a good thing that Ben had never learned how to yield.

 

Another moment, and their glares tore away from each other, a loud cough calling for their attention. Duchess Leia looked at them, a touch amused, a touch concerned, her voice soothing:

 

“If you do not mind, Sir Hux-- my son has returned from six years of war. The garden will still be there after one dance, will it not?”

 

There seemed to be a collective held breath across the whole great hall, and now it was released in a relieved sigh as Armitage smiled, relinquishing his light hold on Rey’s hand. It seemed that none of them had expected every eye to be on them, to bear witness to this odd tension, this silent fight

 

“Of course; I forget myself, my lord.” The smile he offered Ben was less than sincere, though when he offered it to Rey, it was more genuine, perhaps charming, perhaps even affectionate. “Soon though, yes? I’d love to see the flowers that you tend to so lovingly, lady.”

 

Rey’s answering smile was wane, and she pushed herself up from the table. “Please pardon me, my lords-- my humors seem to be out of sort, and I cannot commit myself to a dance or walk. Perhaps another time?”

 

Her tone wasn’t truly asking pardon-- if anything, it challenged Armitage to protest, and Ben fought back a smirk. She knew how to play the game of manners better than anyone.

 

“Let me at least escort you to your chambers, madam,” Armitage offered, something that Rey waved off.

 

“In faith, I’d rather if Lord Solo would-- it has been six years without his company, and I feel that six minutes would rectify that sin.” She looked to Leia, bobbing down in a curtsy. “If it pleases my lady.”

 

Ben couldn’t read his mother’s expression, brow furrowed but face otherwise smooth as she nodded her assent. Rey took his arm, and suddenly they were escaping the now resuming din of supper and dance, the bard’s voice almost sweet as he sang.

 

_Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more._

_Men were deceivers ever,_

_One foot in sea, and one on shore,_

_To one thing constant never…_

 

Rey hummed to herself, her fingers keeping time on Ben’s arm and he took the moment to relish her hold on him. He let his hand rest on hers now, and he almost didn’t dare to look at her, wondering if this was a dream and he’d wake up once he looked at her, back against the hard ground outside some god forsaken battlefield.

 

But then she sighed, and he couldn’t resist, glancing at her now, seeing how she blushed.

 

“My lord…”

 

“Reyna.” Her eyes were on his immediately, and he wondered if he could say her name again, the sound tender in his mouth. Instead, he cleared his throat, murmuring, “You can call me Ben. We are alone. It’s just us.”

 

“Ben,” she sighed, and his heart was in his throat in an instant, his grip on her hand tightening just a bit before he relaxed.

 

“Did my brother put you up to asking me to dance?” Rey laughed at him now, his grimace.

 

“Was it so obvious?”

 

“Aye-- the Ben Solo that I knew before would have never asked, and would have remained glaring the whole night.”

 

“I was not glaring--”

 

“Ben.” He met her eyes again, and she shook her head at him, a sigh on her pink lips. “The only thing stronger than Sir Armitage’s breath was your glare. You were glaring.”

 

“Fine. I was glaring,” he conceded. They had reached the stairs, the hallway behind them seeming to stretch, the sounds of suppertime conversation and song muffled. Rey tugged at her dress now, careful and quiet as they climbed now, both seeming unsure what to say.

 

“What would you have said to Sir Armitage if he hadn’t let me go?” Her question was soft, and Ben was tempted to drag his feet, slow their pace, their journey drawing closer to its end as they mounted the final stair.

 

“Only foul words, my lady, no violence.”

 

“If I can call you Ben, you must remember to call me Rey,” she chided, mulling over his answer. “Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is unfortunate at the least and noisome at the most. I could not have kissed you after your foul words to him.”

 

“Do you wish me to kiss you, Rey?” Her hand had dropped from his arm, her gaze now on her skirt and some invisible wrinkle she seemed intent on smoothing out. His hand was under her chin in a second and she looked up at him, a hand coming to rest over his gently.

 

“Perhaps, Ben. Perhaps.” Before he could blink, much less respond, there was a kiss being pressed to the center of his palm and then a slip of parchment being crushed there for good measure.

 

“Goodnight, Ben.” With that, the door shut behind her, and Ben only had his tingling palm and a piece of paper to show for his gobsmacked air.

 

Still, he uncrumpled the paper, and scrawled there in neat little script was a simple request:

 

_Meet me in the garden after your mother is asleep._

 

When he returned to the supper, he was merely counting down the hours until he could possibly return the favor to Rey.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sigh no more" is from Much Ado About Nothing. (We'll be moving away from that particular Shakespeare work very, very, VERY soon...)
> 
> Comments are loved and kudos appreciated! I hope you enjoyed!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and new bookmarks-- I appreciate and love each one! While I know there are better AUs than this one, I really appreciate the time that each of you take to read this one.
> 
> Please let me know what you think-- suggestion, thoughts and more are appreciated!

“Your grace, Lady Rey is here, as you asked,” Lady Holdo lingered in the doorway of the master bedchamber, listening to the quill scratch the paper, the scritch of the pen bringing a scared animal to mind, especially now as her mistress huddled over the letter. The duchess’s hand paused for a moment, then resumed moving, the sound almost indistinguishable above the fire’s crack.

 

Leia glanced up at Amilyn, her closest friend and her right hand, turning back to the parchment in front of her and scribbling one more thing. Setting her quill aside, the woman sighed, nodding.

 

“Thank you, Amilyn. Send her in, please-- she’ll help me prepare for bed. You may retire for the night.”

 

Leia could see how her friend paused, how hesitant she seemed to be to leave the young countess alone with the duchess. After the night’s supper, it perhaps shouldn’t have surprised the aging woman that Amilyn wore her worry very plainly.

 

“Your grace, I’m sure she didn’t mean any affront to Sir Hux,” Amilyn paused, and Leia knew that she was searching for some sign that the noblewoman was listening, considering.

 

She raised her eyes to the standing woman, smiling quietly. “Amilyn, you mistake me. I’m not displeased with Reyna. I wish to know her thoughts on the man.”

 

Amilyn still frowned, and Leia wondered what she was missing, what she was misunderstanding… but she couldn’t ask now, the other woman dipping into a curtsy, murmuring, “Thank you, your grace,” as she left.

 

Leia heard the lady’s clothes shuffle as she bowed and exited, and it was only then did she lean back in her chair, utterly exhausted. It felt as if a century had passed between supper and now, but no, only a few hours, barely any time at all. Be that as it may, the duchess was convinced that she would not—could not— do right by Rey on the subject of a fiance.

 

She did not want to doubt her decision as Rey’s guardian, but the man who had supped with them did not seem to please the young woman, being very strict, very formal, more like a cleric than a lover. The duchess had seen this kind of man before: any hint of personality showed when this kind of man was being cruel, such as when he protested Rey dancing, but she hoped that she was wrong, that Sir Hux was merely shy.

 

Perhaps, if he had met Rey a bit sooner, had a bit more time at her side, they could learn to like each other better. Then again, it didn’t help matters that her son had finally returned, and with him, the memories of younger days, innocent romance and perhaps more developed feelings had surely sprung up for her young ward. 

 

Leia would never curse her son’s return, but she did have to admit that it made things difficult, especially when everyone seemed to wish her son and little Rey to be wed. 

 

Before the war, she would have gladly considered the union-- she was fond of Rey and would prefer to keep her close than to send her off with another man, and as a mother, she was partial to her son’s happiness. However, after the war, with the Organa-Solo fortune running low, the family’s funding to the king’s effort perhaps recklessly generous, Leia had to make more nuanced, frugal decisions.

 

If it meant uniting her family with wealth by the marriage of her ward, she had to at least consider it. 

 

“Your grace?” Rey’s voice was soft, Leia surfacing from her thoughts quickly to look at the girl--no, woman-- before her. Leia wondered where the time had gone, when the child had grown as she had, her hair longer and her face resembling her late mother in sweetness and mirth.

 

Leia smiled, reaching a hand out to Rey as she stood. “Reyna. I hope I didn’t wake you. You retired early enough that I feared Amilyn would have to rouse you.”

 

“No, your grace-- my head did ache, but a bit of rest and I am as good as new. How can I help you?” Rey’s smile seemed overly polite, her frame tense and her hands absentmindedly tugging at her nightgown sleeves, the robe she wore over it red and hopefully warm against the night’s chill. Her hands were cold to the touch, but still, it only took a moment or two for the smile on Rey’s cheeks to seem more relaxed more genuine.

 

“Just sit with me for a while and help this old woman with her hair, if you would.” Leia sank back into her chair, watching Rey cross the room for a comb. It was a well-practiced ritual, one that had changed over the years. Before, when Rey and Poe had first come to live as her wards, it was Rey who would sit before Leia, chattering as the woman brushed her hair, plaiting it before bed.

 

Now that she was older, Rey had learned how to tend to a mistress, on the off chance she was called to court to serve the queen. That dream had been dashed when King Windu’s wife had passed five winters before and he had refused to take another wife. After the death of his son years before, it wasn’t a surprise, but still, Leia wondered how Rey would see the world if she had gone to the royal court, watching her ward in the mirror before them.

 

Rey’s hands were gentle as she carefully removed hairpins from Leia’s hair, her thick braid falling against her shoulders now. For a few minutes, they sat in silence, content to focus on the task at hand and not disturb the peace between them. 

 

Still, Rey’s eyes flickered up to meet Leia’s in the mirror as she cleared her throat, looking primly at the younger woman.

 

“Sir Hux seemed to be taken with you.” Rey’s hands stilled for a moment at the words, but her fingers quickly returned to undoing the thick braid of graying hair before her, eyes downcast.

 

“He seems very nice,” she murmured in return, heart beating loud in her ears. It wasn’t a lie-- perhaps the man was nice, and kind. He certainly was handsome, and any woman would be happy to be wed to the man, a merchant by trade. Still, there was something about him that did not sit well with her, but she kept silent, hands carding through Leia’s hair as she untangled the plait.

 

“He sang your praises after you left supper.” Leia leaned forward, her hand easily finding the small polished wood box on the table before her. She undid the clasp, the interior a pretty blue velvet, making the gold chain and green gem stand out all the more. “He wished to give this to you himself, tonight.” 

 

Leia smiled despite herself, looking at Rey with pride. “He says that he will stay a day longer to join us in our celebration, and that he hopes you will honor him by wearing this tomorrow.”

 

“Do you realize what that means, dear one? He wishes to move forward, take you as his bride.”

 

Leia watched Rey’s eyes flicker to the box, watched the young woman struggle to keep her face smooth, dispassionate. Still, her voice was thick with something, maybe tears, maybe revulsion, as she answered: “It is a pretty necklace, but I would not like him to chain me.”

 

“It is not imprisonment, Rey. It is marriage.” The girl’s eyes met Leia’s, and soon the hair comb was being set down, a small resistance.

 

“I do not want his gift.”

 

“Do you refuse his hand too?” Rey looked at her hands, hearing fabric shuffle as the duchess turned to look at her, full in the face. “He is rich, and he is honorable-- it is a good match.”

 

“That my mother named you my godmother, I give thanks, my lady. That you have raised me up, I am equally as grateful. But you must pardon me, my lady, for I will not marry him.” Her hands were shaking, and she resisted the urge to wring them, to clutch at her nightgown for some anchor.

 

“And why not, Reyna?” Leia tried to keep her voice soft, her frustration away, but her exasperation twisted the girl’s name harshly, and Rey flinched at the sound. “He is by far the best, and will make sure you are taken care of.”

 

“If you had any love for me, you know who the better match would be.” Rey finally looked up into Leia’s eyes, hazel meeting brown, her gaze resolute and firm. There was silence as an answer, and Leia now looked down, like Rey knew she would, and so she pushed on. “How much have you sold me for? I hope I fetched a pretty price, seeing that you market me like a mare to be bred.”

 

“ _ Reyna!”  _ Leia looked at the girl, aghast, watching how her lips quivered, how she was pale and scarlet at once, her cheeks aflame like her eyes. Rey reached forward, shutting the jewelry with a cruel snap, a scowl set on her lips.

 

“You do not deny it, do you? I have heard you speak of how war is costly, and how fortunes run out. How much did his guardian offer for my hand? For my title? My maidenhead?” Rey knew she was being ghastly, turning on her heel towards the door, sweeping around to look at Leia.

 

“You have plagued me with marriage as if it is my only duty, and I will have none. I wonder at how quickly you rush me to be married when this man has barely come to court me,” she bit out, shrinking away as Leia stood, arms outreached to her.

 

“You must hear reason, Reyna--” Leia had barely touched the girl when she wretched herself out of her grasp.

 

“I see it well enough; do you not? If it is money you are after, take my share of my parent’s wealth, and marry me to Ben-- consider it my dowry for his.” Rey looked up into her guardian’s face, shaking her head, her smile small and bitter. “I know you will not-- whatever was promised for me is much greater, and you think this is an honor for me.”

 

“Lord Snoke promised me much, yes, but it is not out of hate that I deny you what you want,” Leia murmured, gently cupping Rey’s face in her hands, wondering if the girl was about to sob, her grip on the old woman’s wrists fierce, as if she was afraid someone would come and rip her away.

 

“You may turn me out on the street, madam-- I can’t marry him. I am thankful for your efforts, but I would rather you send me to a nunnery than the chapel to be wed.” With watering eyes, she met Leia’s. “Please, do not make me.”

 

“I have promised too much, sweet girl.” Leia felt herself choke on the words as Rey closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. “In two weeks, you’ll be twenty. In three, you must be wed. I have promised too much, and if Lord Snoke knew your refusal…”

 

“What? What could he do if he knew?” Rey’s hands fell away, and she cursed her tears, jerking her sleeve across her face as Leia sighed.

 

“He would rail against you, tell you to eat anywhere that is not my house, tell me to turn you out. I know you like Ben-- can you not pretend that you have the same affection for Armitage? You can learn to love, can you not? For me?” Leia knew her pleas were unheard, Rey shaking her head as if to shake off the words themselves.

 

“Can someone pretend to like a dish which they find disgusting when their favorite is on the same table? Thank you, madam, but I’ll none. Pardon me, please.” She forced herself to curtsy, refusing to look at the hurt face of her godmother as she all but fled the bedchamber, her slippered feet soft against the hall floor stones. 

 

Many women would kill to be wed to a well educated man, a merchant, or a handsome fellow. There was a small voice in Rey’s head that called for her to be grateful that Leia had found a man who embodied all three of those things, but she could not be. Not while Ben lived, not while he was so close by, not while her heart still beat as strong as it did in her chest. 

 

There was something more vile in the air, some poison that clouded the duchess’s judgement, and Rey let herself consider finding Sir Armitage, ask him about his guardian, this Snoke, but she put that thought away. She could not ask at this hour, in her nightgown, not when she detested him so and knew the idle chatterboxes of the castle wandered the halls at night. She’d surely be the gossip at breakfast.

 

She slipped down the hall quicker now, thankful that the moon had risen high, the light leaking through windows and cracks in doors, her path lit well enough. She prayed that Leia’s bedroom candle would be extinguished by the time she reached the garden, only the moon to bear witness to her and Ben. If he did come. Then again, Rey had no reason to doubt him before. With this ill feeling in the air, it wouldn’t do to doubt him now.

 

Still, she clutched her cloak tighter now, and let herself run.   
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love and kudos! I forgot to say so last time, but there are moodboards to accompany the story. You can find them on Twitter (@HerSisKeeper) and Tumblr (hersisterskeeper). Feel free to take a look, and chat with me if you'd like!
> 
> Now, back to the two lovebirds.

The garden had always looked different to him after dark, Ben considering how the moonlight dappled through the willow’s leaves, how the faint glow of some candle in one of the castle’s many windows seemed farther off. He wasn’t as far as he wanted to be from the castle-- not for this meeting, whatever the purpose was.

 

He wouldn’t lie-- there was something of a thrill that came with the clandestine nature, the man slipping from his bedroom window to the courtyard below, a dark cloak pulled tight around him. Despite the years spent away from the grounds, his feet still knew the intricate hedge maze that he had grown up playing in, knew how to get to the little alcove where he would meet Poe and Rey for some secret trip to town during the summer festivals, when they were still mischievous and didn’t care about protection and walls. 

 

That was many years ago, and things had only changed all the more since then. Ben huffed a laugh to himself, thinking of how Poe would wander away and not come back to the castle with them after a long night of festival merriment, and it was only Ben and Rey making the trips back. They would try to guess whose bed he slept in, before eventually the conversations slowly, shyly turned to each other. 

 

Ben smiled to himself at the thought, his stomach still knotting up with nerves and the flush running up the back of his neck to stain his ears, remind him of all those tales of love he had read in secret.

 

There was the shuffle and sway of bushes a little ways off, and he straightened up, wondered if he should stand or sit, the small stone bench dirty from disuse, the debris of rotting leaves and tossed up dirt making the surface rough.

 

From the maze’s mouth stepped Rey,her eyes bright despite the dark, her scarlet cloak clutched tight. Ben’s pulse thrummed loud in his ears, a sliver of Rey’s nightgown hitched up around her ankle as she approached, her face guarded.

 

“My lord, if I knew a bit of skin could entice you so, I would have drawn my skirt up to my knees,” she teased as she drew closer, her laugh quiet as the cold night air seemed to slap Ben’s warm cheeks. He scowled at her, still reaching out, letting himself indulge.

 

“I didn’t come for your taunts, Reyna,” he muttered, the girl’s simper widening into a lazy grin as he gathered her closer, tugged her hood down to look her fully in the face.

 

“You know that jokes are almost the whole of my being, so if not for the taunts, why did you come?” Her hands found his shoulders, her gaze fond as she brought her thumb up to stroke his face. 

 

“You’re very bad at staying aloof, for a warrior as mysterious as Kylo Ren,” she murmured, chuckling as he shook his head.

 

“I should have never let your brother write to you during the war. It seems that he has given you new ways to tease and wound me,” he growled back, playful, tucking her hair behind her ear, letting his hand linger at her neck.

 

He had come up with the supposedly fearsome name when he still played knights and pretended to joust with Poe. After a particularly rigorous battle, one that would have given even the most humble man the utmost of honor, Poe had grinned and dubbed him Kylo Ren once again. The name had stuck for the rest of the war, an unfortunate nickname that made his ears turn red with blushing. Still, hearing it fall from Rey's lips, he liked it, the sound sweet and noble.

 

He sighed. “I have missed you, little friend.”

 

“If you had written me during the war, perhaps I would not have reason to tease you so,” Rey scolded, harrumphing at his smile. “If this is how you greet all of your friends, I suppose I should tell my heart to no longer feel special in your company.”

 

He nearly threw his head back to laugh, quelling the urge with a snort. “Shall I call you a fiend instead, you pretty menace?”

 

“Call me something clearer, like my name, or perhaps ‘love’.” Rey watched Ben’s jaw drop, his eyebrows knit together, and she sighed. “Don’t tell me my brother lies. I would have to be hurt with the both of you, and I don’t know whose offense would be greater.”

 

A cloud seemed to pass overhead, the sky darkening all the more, and Ben pulled Rey closer, examined her face solemnly. “How do I know you and your brother are not setting me up for some jest? You have done it before.”

 

“Why would I jest at something that affects my heart as well?” Rey pushed against Ben’s arms, frowning at how he held fast. “If you cannot believe me, then you can let me go.”

 

“You’re supposed to marry someone else, Reyna.” His words were soft, but still, she scoffed at them.

 

“And perhaps I will marry someone else if you cannot be frank with me,” she hissed. “I did not quarrel with your mother for your hand just to be called ‘friend.’ Let me go, Benjamin.” 

 

His grip seemed to tighten just to spite her, and she scowled, looking up at him with a glare. The look fell from her face quickly, Ben’s gaze meeting hers almost rapturously, seemingly awestruck.

 

“You fought my mother for me? What would possess you to do that, sweet girl?” His hand was now cradling her head, her chin tilted up, her eyes locked firmly on him. Rey wasn’t sure if she was allowed to breathe, if she could breathe, wondering if the gooseflesh breaking across her arms was from the chill of the air or the heat of his eyes, his thumb coming up to linger on her bottom lip for a minute, his eyes straying to follow his thumb before he looked her in the eye again.

 

He cleared his throat, wondered if he was drunk, his limbs heavy but Rey light in his arms, his feet rooted in place. “Isn’t Sir Armitage rich enough for you? Handsome enough? Wise enough?”

 

“Benjamin, you needn’t go fishing for compliments to have me tell you how I like thee.” Her voice was soft and she leaned into the warmth of his hand, her hand coming to cradle it now. She had forgotten how much larger he was than she, his hand dwarfing hers easily. She supposed it was easy to forget when he was always so gentle with her, as if she was made of glass or fine cloth, given to shattering or wrinkling.

 

She wondered if he’d ever treat her roughly, if she asked him, and there was a heat that bloomed in her chest that slipped hot down into her stomach and then a little farther still. In a moment, her arms were looped around his neck, her hands finding his hair.

 

“Your hair has gotten longer,” she muttered dumbly, blushing at the words. He didn’t laugh at her, merely smiled, his nose almost brushing hers.

 

“Yours has too, my lady.”

 

“I told you to call me ‘Rey’, Ben. You’re higher-born than I am.” She watched him shake his head slightly, his breath warm on her face.

 

“Perhaps, but it’s I that doesn’t deserve you.” The thought made his hold on her just a bit tighter, as if he was afraid that someone could come, rip them apart, take her from his arms. He almost growled at the thought, but instead sighed.

 

“I brought nothing back for you. Sir Armitage brought you a necklace and he hardly knows how wonderful you are.”

 

“If I wanted necklaces, I would buy them myself. I have no use for jewels-- or him.” His eyebrows furrowed, a small frown, and she huffed. “You are harder to convince than your mother, and she insisted that I place the love I have for you on that undeserving man.”

 

“You have only said how you liked me, and not loved, so allow me a moment to think on it,” the smile on his face was a slow blooming one, and he laughed despite himself at how she lightly cuffed his ear, annoyed.

 

“If you please, get on with it. I’ve had to sit alone with the thought for six years, and you know how I hate waiting.” 

 

“What did my mother say when you told her that you loved me?” Perhaps he was being a child about the matter, but he delighted in how she flushed, how she sighed and then smiled. If he had been able to see her in his arms in his dreams or some vision while away, he would have rushed back sooner, war and his king be damned.

 

“She refused my wish.” Rey’s lips pressed into a thin line, her displeasure sitting on the bow of her lips, her glance shifting downward to avoid Ben’s look. He couldn’t be surprised-- he had heard his mother this morning, had even promised years before that he would never marry her. 

 

Albeit, he promised for a noble reason, a reason that, well-natured, was best ignored...and was being ignored by other parties.

 

She sighed, shaking her head. “This is your cue, Ben. Cast me aside, tell me to marry another man, that you promised to never take my hand. Tell me that I’m foolish, and bid me goodnight.” Her tease was bitter and her smile matched as she looked up at him again.

 

Ben was looking at her somberly, his eyes swirling dark, and Rey wondered what he could be thinking. Was he considering doing just as she said? Would he rail against that, insist that he loved her? 

 

She wasn’t sure, and so she shut her eyes for a moment, the darkness behind her eyelids preferable to the uncertainty before her.

 

Something soft brushed her cheek, and her eyes opened quickly now as Ben pressed his lips against her forehead, his whisper soft in her ear now. “I am the only fool between the two of us, and if you would rather an oathbreaker as a husband than a merchant, I humbly ask you to take me.”

 

Ben doubted that the stars could ever outshine the beaming smile Rey treated him to, her hands fisting in his cloak, bringing his mouth close to hers. He wondered if he could get dizzy from the rush of his blood in his ears, heart in his throat as she lifted her face…

 

...and kissed him on the corner of the mouth. Despite his wish for more, he supposed he should be grateful for even her touch, her smile mischievous, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

 

“Far be it from me to rush into things,” she teased, laughing as he groaned, burying his face in her hair.

 

“You sat alone with the thought of loving me for six years, and yet kissing my mouth is to rush? Reyna, you will be the death of me.” He felt her shiver as he growled at her as a joke, his lips close to her neck.

 

“It’s to preserve the two of us, your grace,” she soothed, running a hand down his back and to his waist, her hold looser than he would have liked. “I have waited six years, and I can wait a little longer.”

 

“You say that, but the moment my uncle returns to his chapel here, I am dragging you there and marrying you.” He pulled away, looking at her.

 

“You say that, but you haven’t told me that you loved me. Feelings are a fickle thing, Master Solo. Perhaps by Friday, you’ll want nothing to do with me.” She let her lips alight on his chin, letting herself sit in the moment a bit longer. This wasn’t some vivid dream, where she would wake the next morning drenched in sweat and tangled in her sheets. He was here and she took solace in it, his calloused palms covering her hands.

 

“I promise on your hand and mine, I love you. It is that all you want to hear? Or shall I continue, and tell you how I cannot live without you anymore?” He nearly flinched at Rey affectionately tweaking his ear, her smile bright.

 

“No, for you’ll start pledging your love by the moon, and the stars and all the other inconstant things of this world. Promise only by yourself and I, and I will believe thee,” she cooed. With a squeeze of her hand, she ended the sentence, stepping away now.

 

“The night is cold, and I’m sure some poor soul will fear the worst if they find our beds empty in the morning.” She offered her hand, relishing in how warm Ben’s palm was as it enfolded hers, his grip firm, his smile soft.

 

“And what would be the worst, sweet girl?”

 

“That you had stolen me away in the middle of the night, without so much as a warning or note begging for a blessing.” She grinned at him, his flush apparent in the moonlight. “In fairness to you, it seems that I am the only one dishonorable enough to consider that as a plan and not a jest. But I will wait on you, love.”

 

“And I wait on you, even though you tease me thus.” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it sweetly, wishing it was her mouth instead. Ben knew he would have to let go of Rey’s hand soon enough, but for now, under the cover of night, hidden amongst a maze’s shrubs and guarded by others’ sleeping eyes, she was his. 

 

Perhaps nothing could change that fact, and so he squeezed her hand and smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This unintentionally is the longest chapter thus far, so please forgive me. (Things are heating up though...although possibly not how you think.)
> 
> I hope the longer update makes up for me missing the 4th (and technically the 5th). I was hoping to do double update but let the day get away from me. (I'm hoping to rectify that!)
> 
> One last note: the term 'sirrah' is a term of address to a man/boy of lesser rank... and is usually used as an insult.

Feast days were a particular pleasure in the Organa-Solo household, the manor house ablaze with activity, chattering, streams of guests and servants alike, arriving and making ready. 

 

No one dared to sleep in on feast days for the simple reason that there was too much to do. Even as a noblewoman, Rey knew her part in the organized chaos, rising before dawn to oversee the installation of banners and canopies in the garden for the night’s festivities, the keep staying clear for the dancing that would later take place. 

 

She had stood back, watching the men work, Phasma at her elbow, quietly asking what she would prefer to wear for the masquerade, if she had given thought to the preparation. Rey couldn’t even say that she was paying attention as she spoke with Phasma, her mind drawing her back to the hedge maze, to Ben’s arms. In the chill of the morning, she shivered with want and the cold, silently accepting the shawl Phasma offered. 

 

They did not return to the castle until breakfast, the sun rising higher and her fingers and cheeks rosy from the cold.

 

Now Rey darted among the chaos, giggling with Jess and Rose as they ducked and flattened, trying to ease the way of pages carrying gifts and supplies. It had been a happy morning, even if the duchess had looked on her woefully at breakfast, looking away when her son came and sat down besides the two of them.

 

Sir Armitage conspicuously was missing at breakfast, and she had been hopeful that he had left early after being told that she had rejected him. Poe had corrected her after breakfast, telling her how the man had been the only one to sleep late, that Armitage hadn’t seen it fit to listen to the servant who had gone to fetch him for breakfast.

 

It was an awful and unfortunate thing to laugh at, but she had, especially as Ben joined the siblings with some joke at the gentleman’s expense. Before he had left with Poe for the courtyard, swords at their hips to practice some drills and to lazily keep an eye on servants finishing the installation of two wine fountains, Ben had caught her hand, his smile soft despite the sleepiness in his eyes. 

 

The look alone confirmed that she hadn’t dreamed their encounter last night, and she thought of it now, smiling to herself as Jess and Rose prattled on about what they would wear to the masquerade after the feast.

 

A page was announcing the arrival of guests, despite it barely being noon, the invitation list being long and thorough, the duchess having spared no expense. In the crush of people, the young countess spotted two familiar faces, and with a happy crow, called to them.

 

“Lady Jyn! Lord Cassian!”

 

The returning smiles were unsurprising, the middle-aged Countess Erso holding her arms wide as the young woman ran to embrace her, her husband, the Earl of Andor, looked on. The couple were Poe’s godparents and were a regular fixture in the lives of those at the manor. Rey beamed up at Jyn, grateful for another familiar face--and perhaps a sympathetic ear to listen to her case.

 

Jyn, for all her friendship with the duchess, often did not hold the same opinions on things as Leia-- especially when it came to marriage and title. Cassian had barely been ranked a gentleman when Jyn married him merely for love and not money, a cause for quarrel between herself and her father, the late Earl Galen. Instead of taking her husband’s name, Jyn’s husband had taken hers, a fact that the countess never let anyone forget.

 

It had been a scandal at the time, and until the last few years, Rey had wondered if Leia had yet to forgive Jyn for it, the two growing up under the same governess. If the duchess had been headstrong when she was younger, Jyn had been downright brash. Still, the two had remained in each other’s confidence, allies both in personal and political matters.

 

Truly, if there was anyone who could plead her case to Leia, Rey knew that it was Jyn.

 

“Cassian, it would appear that goddesses walk amongst us,” Jyn teased, leaning her forehead against Rey’s proudly, murmuring a softer greeting. “It has barely been a month since we saw you last and you seem to be shining all the brighter. Tell this old woman how, so I can preserve my youth a bit better.”

 

“In faith, my lady, she has no secret,” Rose noted, grinning at Rey’s playful scowl, the lady-in-waiting pinching her mistress’s cheek. “She is only in love, and is not able to hide it.”

 

“In love? That either means that her grace has finally picked a good match for you, or a certain noble has returned from battle,” murmured Cassian, holding an arm out for Rey to take, an offer to chaperone. 

 

Rey smiled and looped her arm in his, waving her ladies away, watching them curtsy and trail to where Lady Amilyn stood. “Aye, my lord, perhaps you are right. But only on the latter.”

 

She grinned at Jyn taking her other arm, the older couple’s presence already comforting, already giving her hope. Still, she kept that silent for now, instead looking up ahead, leading the pair away from the hustle and bustle in the keep and towards the inner courtyard.

 

Rey lead them to a bench, leaving their arms as she turned, letting them sit. “I am so glad that you have come. The duchess did not tell me that she invited you when she dispatched the messengers yesterday, but I am glad that you are here. How long are you staying with us?” 

 

Suddenly, the smiles seemed to dissipate, Jyn and Cassian glancing at each other and then back at Rey, lips pinching in worry. Rey felt her eyebrows rise in surprise, concern, and then fall in some realization.

 

“Were you asked to come and plead on the duchess’s half of the argument?” Cassian merely sighed at the question, and the young woman had her answer, throwing her hands up in frustration. “By the virgin!”

 

“Reyna, please, listen to me when I say that we would prefer to counsel against taking your suitor, but for your sake, and the duchess’s, you should at least consider.” Jyn’s words were hushed, barely above a mumble, and Rey couldn’t help but laugh.

 

“You do not understand. I had thought to ask you to advocate on  _ my  _ behalf to the duchess.” Rey laughed again, looking at Jyn, who seemed caught between a smile and disbelief. She knew without looking that the earl’s eyebrows were nearly touching his hair, his amused scoff quiet.

 

She drew closer to them, kneeling at their feet and resting her crossed arms on Jyn’s lap as if she was a child again. “I must confess a secret, and you must promise to tell no one. On the pain of my death, swear to me.”

 

The couple looked to each other again, silently calculating. Rey knew that they loved her much like her own parents had-- there had been many nights that Jyn had rocked little Rey to sleep, that they had nearly taken in the Dameron children themselves. She also knew that they were lesser nobles, that they were below even her in rank-- and even further below the duchess in rank.

 

She would never hold it against them if they chose their loyalty to Leia over her, but she still hoped, her fingers tripping over the embroidery on her sleeves, the pace of her wandering fingers anxious. However, husband nodded at wife, and Jyn turned back with an affectionate smile, smoothing Rey’s hair.

 

“On pain of our deaths as well, we swear that your secret is safe with us. We will be your confessors.”

 

“I am already engaged.” Jyn’s forehead wrinkled and then she gasped, hand under Rey’s chin and lifting, the woman inspecting the girl’s face.

 

“Reyna Dameron, if you jest, it is not funny!”

 

“I jest not, I promise you, my lady!”

 

“It’s to Ben, isn’t it?” Cassian asked, Rey nodding as the man hummed to himself. A cautious look around, and his voice softened: “It is not out of necessity, is it?”

 

“If you are asking if he has disgraced me, then no, not out of necessity. If you are asking if he loves me, then yes, it is out of every necessity.” Rey knew that to tell was to leave herself vulnerable to any reaction, and she half expected to be yanked to her feet and taken by the ear to the duchess immediately, but instead, Jyn grinned, pinching her cheek now.

 

“Amilyn owes me five sovereigns. What happy news.”

 

“For me or your purse, my lady?” Rey teased, Cassian laughing with her as his wife huffed, her pinch a bit harder on Rey’s cheek now. 

 

“You speak as if you have been deaf all your childhood. You know how long every soul in the duchy has been praying for this news.” 

 

Rey couldn’t help but flush crimson with pleasure, her smile wide. “Aye, though I did not know the entire duchy was hoping for it.”

 

“Word spreads fast, especially during peace and when speaking of love,” Cassian murmured, his hand gentle on Rey’s cheek, his look proud. “If you will allow me, I will gladly stand with you on your wedding day.”

 

“It is what my father would have wanted,” Rey murmured, biting the inside of her cheek to quell the tears that threatened to come up. “Does that mean you will speak on my behalf to the duchess?”

 

“We will try,” Jyn soothed, taking Rey’s hands in hers, look serious now. “Who else knows of this?”

 

“Only Ben and God. I don’t dare tell even my brother.” Rey sighed, her smile small. “You know how he talks.”

 

“Yes, so you are wise to tell only us.” Cassian thought for a moment, hand stroking at his graying beard. “For now, though, lady, keep this secret close, and do not dismiss your most current suitor until we have spoken with the duchess. He will keep suspicion off of you and Ben, even if you slip and are found embracing.”

 

Jyn smirked, slipping a hand atop her husband’s other hand, which rested on his lap. “It’s true. It is the same strategy that I employed before I eloped with Cassian. My old suitor Krennic went to his grave spurned, and perhaps a smidge grateful to not be saddled with me.”

 

The smile the two shared was short-lived, a loud commotion going up on the other side of the large courtyard, the head cook boisterously upbraiding some poor fool who had gotten in the way of the procession of food into the kitchens. Apparently the culprit had upset a cage or two of game fowl, several serving boys now running after a loose peacock and pheasant, as well as chickens.

 

Rey only spared a glance towards the debacle, sighing in annoyance at the familiar head of red hair, its owner thankfully turned away from her at the moment.

 

“Speaking of suitors, there is mine,” she muttered, looking away as Armitage excused himself from the still fuming cook, his call to the girl ignored as she blankly stared at Jyn and Cassian instead.

 

“If he asks, we are discussing the merits of music as a part of education, or perhaps even something as trivial as why God made the sky blue,” Rey murmured, Jyn snorting at the suggestion.

 

Cassian, however, smiled, asking loudly, “Has your lady continued your music lessons, or are you content with only being a songbird and not a musician?”

 

“In faith, Lord Erso, I have continued my study of the harpsichord,” Rey returned in kind, not turning her head as Armitage’s footsteps sounded loudly on the gravel path to the bench. 

 

“So my queen knows how to sing, sew,  _ and  _ play an instrument? By Jesu, I have been blessed with a good match!” Jyn quelled another snort with a cough as Rey’s brows furrowed, her mouth still smiling at Armitage’s attempt to join the conversation. 

 

“Good morrow, Sir Armitage.” Rey let her voice stay light in tone, her face smoothing, knowing that to even quirk her lips would be to give the man confidence. Still, he smiled at her, his green eyes refusing to even flicker off of her and to the Ersos. 

 

She cleared her throat, standing now. “This is Lord Cassian and Lady Jyn, the Earl and Countess of Andor.” Leveling a look at him, one that she hoped was threatening enough, a small frown marring her lips, she added, “They are dear friends of the family, and are like another set of parents to me.”

 

The man seemed to pick up the cue, bowing stiffly to the still-seated couple, the two staring at him perturbed. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Perchance I can talk with you later and learn more about my bride from your wise words.”

 

“In my experience, the only way to truly learn someone, betrothed or not, is to talk to them yourself,” Jyn replied coldly, taking Cassian’s arm as they stood, nodding to Rey. “Reyna, we will see you at dinner, and if it please you, I will prepare for the night’s festivities in your chambers.”

 

A look to Cassian and a nod, and Jyn hummed. “We need to present ourselves to the duchess and tell her the number in our retinue.”

 

“Of course, my lady. I will see you in an hour’s time to dine.” Rey considered begging with her gaze for the two not to leave her, but still, she nodded before turning to Armitage. Even if it killed her, she was intent on appearing as poised and as neutral as possible, even as a frown pleaded to perch on her lips.

 

“Well, Master Armitage, it would appear that my company is all yours. Did the duchess send for me, or are you here on your own behalf?”

 

“The latter, my queen.” He smiled again, and Rey tentatively returned the look, lightly placing her hand on his offered arm. “I was hoping to rectify my absence at breakfast with a walk through the garden, if it so please you.”

 

“There is nothing to correct in my book, sir. Truly, your absence does not place you in my ill graces,” she murmured.  _ Truly, you have been in my ill graces since I became aware of your existence,  _ she thought, forcing the smile to remain on her face.

 

"Still, indulge me, my lady. I missed your presence for the rest of supper, and had half the mind to check on my queen after, but your maids said you were with the duchess when I came to inquire." He covered her hand with his, and she nearly jumped from the coolness of it, even as they walked through the warm midday sun. 

 

"When did you come to call, sir? My  _ ladies _ \-- they are not maids, they are noble born-- did not tell me that you had visited." She wished he would stop smiling, the look almost unnatural on the man's face, and she wondered how out of practice he was with the look.

 

"Some time betwixt eleven and midnight, my queen." He looked on her fondly, replying, "I forget myself, and I ask for your forgiveness."

 

Rey frowned, brow furrowing. She had been with Ben during that time, and she wondered if he could possibly know of the rendezvous. However, he had not outright accused her, so she forced the thought away.

 

"Sir Armitage, again, you do not need my forgiveness. I only correct you out of care. Also, you needn't call me queen just because you are merely a gentleman and I a countess. I could call you a peasant by that same logic." 

 

This was possibly as kind as she would let herself be to the man, but only for her comfort, the higher title making her shift with unease. To think above her station, even casually, when the king and his immediate successors still lived, was treason, and she did not wish to be a part of his presumptions, hopefully made out of ignorance. 

 

His smirk told her that he knew well enough what he had said, his thumb swiping across the back of her hand. "Call me what you like, you goddess divine. When we are married, we'll sit on thrones."

 

He turned to look at her full in the face, catching both of her hands in one of his, the other coming to grip her chin almost harshly. He looked at her carefully, examining her as if she was another bolt of fabric he looked to buy cheaply and then sell for as much as he could. Perhaps the skill made him a wonderful merchant, but such a gaze turned on her made Rey flinch, her eyes focusing on her hands before he jerked her face up, forcing him to look in the eyes.

 

“What think you of that, pretty Reyna? To sit above your current peers on perfumed cushions with the power of God and state on your side?” He stroked her face now, and she felt ill. “I think it’s a pretty picture, especially if I am by your side for it.”

 

"You presume much about seating arrangements," she replied, wrenching her hands from his grip, her hand catching his wrist and tugging it away from her face with a frown. “I do hope you keep these fantasies to yourself. To speak of such things is treason.”

 

“Are you worried for me, sweetling?” His smirk irked her, his breath too hot on her face as he leaned close to whisper to her, his words more like a snake’s hiss: “I promise, your brother and his friend would be safe while you are at my side.”

 

“Is everything alright here?” 

 

Armitage jerked away from Rey at the voice, the two looking up now at Poe and Ben. Never before had Rey been so grateful for an intervention, and she stepped away from her suitor quickly, coming to stand beside her brother.

 

His glare softened as he glanced at his sister, but in a moment, it hardened again, his frown steely. “I will say it again, Master Hux: is everything alright here?”

 

“Everything is fine, my lords. I was merely asking my betrothed if she enjoyed my gift. I do think the emerald on the piece suits your eyes, my dear.” His smile was too easy, even as he returned the glare. He looked to be baring his teeth rather than smiling, and it shouldn’t have surprised Rey that Poe sneered now.

 

“Until she is wearing your gift and I have given my blessing, I suggest you refer to her with her title and not these endearments. She is not your betrothed nor your wife.” Poe stepped closer to the pale man, muttering through gritted teeth.

 

“If you have laid a hand on my sister, I swear to the virgin that I will gut you--”

 

“Poe.” Ben’s voice was calm, almost dangerously so, his hand clapping on his friend’s shoulder, tugging him back. His eyes remained squarely on Armitage though, his jaw working for a moment before he smiled.

 

Rey had never been afraid of Ben, not even when he would try to scare her as children. However, this moment, seeing that look, a quiet, seething look promising unimaginable pain to the man before him, and something inside her trembled. She wanted to soothe him, calm him and the storm threatening to break, but she stayed quiet, taking solace in his harsh gaze.

 

“I believe my mother was looking for you, sirrah.” Armitage’s face reddened, almost matching his hair, at the address, but Ben waved him off with the flick of his wrist, glancing at Poe. “Perhaps you can escort the man to the duchess, Lord Dameron.”

 

“Gladly, your grace,” Poe nodded, his smile fake but honey sweet, taking Armitage by the arm. “Come, sirrah, I’m sure we can talk of a great many things as we walk.”

 

Armitage considered the two men with a withering look before looking to Rey and smirking. “I hope to see you tonight, my lady. Perhaps you will forgive me enough to save me a dance.”

 

“Not if I can help it, sir.” Rey murmured, ready to snarl back when the charming look fell from Armitage’s face and he frowned at her. Instead, Poe pulled the man away, half frog-marching him out of the courtyard and into the manor.

 

“Are you alright?” Ben was at her side now, hovering perhaps too close for secrecy, but Rey forgave him, her fingers itching to touch him, her eyes all but begging him to pull her close as she looked to him, lip trembling.

 

She shook her head, and he sighed, mournful, glancing about before pressing his mouth against the top of her head. A casual onlooker wouldn’t consider the gesture more than innocent, having seen the two interact so before, but now Ben lingered, another sigh.

 

“I wish to hold you, but I’m afraid it’s not the time or place, sweet girl.” Despite herself, Rey smiled at the words, her hand catching his for a moment, thumb smoothing across his knuckles.

 

“Later, love. I promise to only dance with you if I can help it.”

 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Love makes your social graces and manners terrible, do you know that?”

 

“The other lords will have to forgive me. My brother won’t mind.” She took his arm innocently, letting him lead her towards the keep, her steps faltering as he spoke again.

 

“Will you tell me what he said, Reyna?” 

 

Her lips trembled again, and she shook her head quickly, voice barely above a whisper. “Later, too, your grace. To repeat it would be treason.”

 

His face clouded for a moment, but it passed quickly enough. They remained quiet a few steps more, feigning good spirits now as Jess and Rose approached them, coaxing their mistress to let go of Ben’s arm, that it was time for dinner, and soon, to be dressed for the night.

 

Still, that unease sat in Rey’s mind, on her frame, on her brow, for the rest of the afternoon, only giving it up now as Jyn helped fit her mask to her face. The young countess heaved a sigh, squaring her shoulders, and let herself step from her room, the sky darkening quickly now, the night falling.

 

There was treason afoot, but she could only smile. After all, she was but a woman, and her actions were not her own this night. At least, she would let them think that.

 

They would do well to never underestimate her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter for you patient dears! Thank you for all the kind comments and the kudos-- I appreciate all the love and am still honored that you chose to read this fic. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, and may the Force be with you!

The torches seemed to burn brighter after supper, the buzz of conversation giving way to chirping crickets and the far off sounds of the musicians preparing to entertain, to perform, to strike up ballads and songs to prompt men and ladies to dance. Rey considered the stream of party guests around her, letting herself follow the current, her skirts rustling almost silently in the face of the din around her. She stepped aside before the manor door, watching lords and ladies, servants and nobles alike, pass her by. In the masks, these faces could belong to anyone, a concept that used to delight her, intrigue her. 

 

Now she watched them carefully, feeling the weight of the metal wrought flower crown on her head, her own mask in her hand. If anyone asked her, out of politeness, she would tell them that she had decided to forgo the mask as it was easier to laugh without it, a pretty layer of paint and specks of gold leaf underneath exactly for the moment when she gave up the decoration. Truly, it helped her hide all the better, her sight no longer disturbed by piece, her eyes flickering across the faces of all those passing her.

 

Her stomach hadn’t calmed, nerves coiling it tight, making her wonder what could be afoot. A woman’s intuition was apparently more powerful than even the oracle at Delphi, she had been told, and so she tried not to discount the discomfort in her gut. Still, despite the unease, she had managed to choke down some supper, had chatted happily with those at her table, thankful that someone had enough foresight to keep her and Sir Armitage apart for the meal, his table across from hers. 

 

She hadn’t paid him any mind but had felt the weight of his gaze on her all the same. Well, his gaze, and Ben’s, who looked on her from the head table. He had also foregone a mask, and was somewhere ahead of her in this procession, escorting his mother in to begin the dance portion of the festivities.

 

Rey sighed, gulping a breath of the chilling night air, the sun setting on the horizon, a pretty thing of pinks and purples, swirling blue and jarring orange. She took a moment to consider it, her eyes flicking up at a familiar voice, an offered hand.

 

“Sister,” Poe grinned at her beneath his own face paint, his errant curls cushioning the wreath of grape vines, his purple tunic rich under the makeshift toga he had constructed. The Dionysus to her Persephone. 

 

“Brother,” she sighed, her smile wane as she accepted his hand, following the last of the guests into the great hall, her emerald blue dress shining in the light as they walked.

 

“I hope you do not mind that I moved a certain man across from us rather than beside us,” Poe murmured from the side of his mouth, the two siblings the picture of pretty hospitality, smiles wide, nods polite as they passed by bowing noblemen, curtseying noblewomen. “I figured, after the scene Ben and I had come across this morn that you would prefer my company than that annoyance.”

 

“I do not mind at all, dear brother.” She glanced at him and then away quickly. Though they did not have any enemies around them, she knew it was best to feign innocent conversation than the whispered observations they were making now. “Indeed, he seemed busy too-- perhaps my eyes have weakened from sewing by candle, but did I see several ladies keeping him company. Have they forsaken your company for his?”

 

“Aye, sweet sister.” Poe’s lips twisted up in a sly smirk, his chest puffing with pride. "I told one maid that he has a fortune and an open hand, and that I am becoming a priest. The word spread rather quickly among the rest, and so I’m able to accompany you instead of forcing his company on you. Enjoying your free time?"

 

"Much." She looked at him again, raising an eyebrow. "I believe you left something else out."

 

He tried to quell his widening grin, but failed, murmuring, "Perhaps I did mention that the gentleman's penis is small and shriveled, but wealth seems to be enough for these fair guests."

 

Rey snorted, their walk pausing at the edge of the keep, the two waiting to be summoned for the first dance. Despite their good manners and knowledge of courtly practice, it would be a shame to deny the chance to begin rumors. "You are disgusting, brother. I missed you."

 

“As I missed you, sweet sister. Shall we?” Rey nodded, letting her brother lead her onto the dance floor, Ben already sweeping his mother about it, the picture of a devout son. Still, the Dameron siblings did not miss the furrow of the Solo son’s brow, both resolving to ask him on it later. 

 

* * *

 

“You will speak to her, won’t you, dear heart?” Ben sighed at his mother’s question, trying his hardest not to roll his eyes at her, wondering when the pipers would draw this song to a close, when he could make his escape, find Rey, secret her away to some corner.

 

In the meantime, he feigned ignorance, his fingers against Leia’s as they stepped into the Cinque Pas, their guests watching, faces imperceptible. For a moment, he wished that he had decided to wear a mask as well, that he didn’t have to school his face in neutrality, not when so many eyes were on him and his lady mother, their conversation better suited for private instead of public.

 

“Speak to who, mother?” Leia sighed at the question, Rey and Poe stepping behind them now, a procession slowly forming, as was typical of the dance form. Ben kept his eyes ahead, even as he wanted to glance back, hearing Rey laugh with Poe at something. Still, his mouth tugged up in a smile, and he struggled to smooth it now, his mother looking at him almost suspiciously as they now stepped backward, the movement measured and slow.

 

“To Reyna. She would rather marry you than the suitor I’ve found for her and--”

 

“Am I so disappointing, mother, that you’d rather marry her to a man who looks like he’s wearing a buzzard on his head and who seems to lack manners?” If anyone was listening in, they’d think he was teasing, but as mother caught her son’s eye, lightly frowning, Ben knew she had gotten his point, his criticism.

 

“It would be better for the family, for her future, if she married someone else, Ben darling.” Leia scowled at her son’s eyeroll. “Besides, the love that you have towards each other is surely rooted in your memory. You have not seen each other in so long; surely, you don’t feel you have a claim on her heart?”

 

Ben felt his face grow cold, his expression stony, forcing himself to remain silent and keep his gaze ahead. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see how his mother tensed, shoulders sagging now, brow knitting together. “I simply mean, Ben…”

 

“I know what you mean, mother.” He met her look, their hands coming apart as they stepped aside to bow, the dance done. “I will not speak to her on it-- it is not my place.” 

 

Perhaps he heard Lady Jyn approach his mother, ask her to come talk to her privately. He wasn’t sure, his pace quick and his steps loud in his ears as he retreated into the crowd of guests. He needed something to drink, and a moment to himself.

 

“Lord Solo!” His head jerked to the side, and a tittering group of three noblewomen looked up at him, their masks gaudy and bright. His stomach clenched, and he braced himself for some unpleasant request to dance, some ill-formed flirt, but instead, the words were a bit more welcome from the over-eager painted lips.

 

“Have you seen Master Hux? We wanted to see if he would dance with us!” 

 

True, at first, Ben frowned but then he grinned, an opportunity presenting itself thoroughly. “Aye, I believe that he is in Lady Reyna’s company. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind parting from his conversation.”

 

Two of the three ladies quickly thanked him, turning to go but faltering as the third seemingly caught the curious glint in his eyes and asked loudly, “Why would she wish to part from such a charming man?”

 

“Oh, you don’t know?” He lowered his voice conspiratorially, muttering loudly. “His mother conceived him out of wedlock on a feast day during Advent, on a Wednesday of all days. The Lord punished her, as it were, through him. Stunted growth, if you understand.”

 

Three pairs of eyes widened behind the masks, and now their owners fell into a hushed and scandalized conversation, pecking at the gossip much like a flock of hens would on their feed. Ben smiled to himself, slipping a bit farther into the crowd. He would steal Rey away a little later.

 

* * *

 

Rey watched as Jyn lead the duchess away, catching the wink that the lady threw her way, a promise that everything would hopefully be straightened out, that perhaps a certain suitor could be sent packing before the end of the night. Beside her, Poe nursed a cup of wine, his eyes trained on the many couples who now danced.

 

“I do have to say, six years is not kind on one’s social standing. I hardly know who half of these people are,” he groused, pouting at his sister as she laughed at him.

 

“Of course you don’t. You hardly paid attention before the war. It serves you right to be out of the gossip mill,” she chided, plucking his cup from him and drinking deeply, the wine tart on her tongue.

 

“You may well drain the goblet, sister-- your irksome suitor comes,” Poe muttered, averting his gaze from the approaching man, pretending not to see.

 

“There you are, my queen.” Rey saw Poe’s eyebrow quirk at the address, but thankfully, he kept quiet, her smile fake as she turned to the approaching man. 

 

“Indeed, here I am, Sir Armitage. Are the festivities agreeing with you?” She stepped back, seemingly to make room in the small space she and Poe held court over now, but her eyes were on the tall and morose man who loomed behind Armitage, his face seemingly shriveled with age, his eyes dark and beady. Her fingers pricked with unease, and she cast her eyes down.

 

“They are, though I have not had the honor of dancing with you tonight, my lady.” Armitage gestured at the man who now stepped forward and bowed to the two siblings. “This is my grandfather and guardian, Sir Thomas Snoke. He is the wise man who, with the duchess, arranged our match.”

 

“My lady.” She expected a wheeze for a voice, not the deep, almost gravelly one that came from Sir Snoke. Despite her reservations, Rey extended her hand for the old man to take, his lips dry and chapped as he kissed it. His eyes seemed intent on burning her, his natural stare seemingly a glare even as he turned to bow to her brother.

 

“Sir Snoke. It is a pleasure to enjoy your company tonight.” Poe’s words were measured, smooth, and Reyna thanked whatever angel listening for bringing her brother back, to let him play diplomat, his face guarded now.

 

For a masquerade, the man before them was completely out of place, his hat and clothes dark, his hands folded before him. He seemed to be a judge, his manner almost clerical. Seeing him, a person such as Armitage made sense, and there could be a question on whether one should pity the ward of such a man as Sir Thomas Snoke. The question would never be asked though. There was no point. 

 

Snoke grumbled a laugh, shaking his head, “Unfortunately, I am too old to be much of a pleasure to the likes of you, though I am grateful to be in your company.” 

 

He glanced at Rey, and she felt herself freeze, listening to him murmur, “When Armitage spoke of losing his head over your beauty, I wondered if the silly boy was exaggerating. Truly, he slandered you by not waxing more on it, my dear.”

 

“Thank you, good sir.” She flinched slightly as he leaned forward, pressing a polite kiss to her cheek. 

 

“"Your lady seems to have much love for your brother...and for Lord Solo." His words were quiet, and she wondered, hoped that she was imagining it, her gaze locked on Poe and Armitage, who seemed to be bickering between themselves. Still, she stood tall, coughing politely.

 

"Yes, indeed. I grew up with him and will always be fond of my childhood playmate."

 

Sir Snoke pulled back, his small eyes examining her coldly, appraising. "Of course. I just hope you have some love to spare for my ward, Armitage…” His lips widened in a smile that could be either kind or cruel, the thin mouth seemingly unused to the look as he rasped. “Or has Lord Solo the whole of it?"

 

She jerked back, her gaze hard on the man. Rey could only hope that her words carried a coldness, concealed the tremble that threatened to claim her limbs. "What are you implying, my lord?" 

 

"Nothing, lady. Nothing at all." Still, his gaze was steady as he waved her off, smile still twisted on his lips. In a moment, he looked beyond her as if he saw a familiar face, bowing now and muttering some excuse. She let him go, stomach churning as she ignored the lack of decorum.

 

There was no way that he could know of her engagement with Ben. She chanted the fact in her head, tried to soothe herself with the truth, but the sense of dread wouldn’t slip away. She wished that she could, wished to go find Ben, to comfort herself in some way, but she couldn’t.

 

Instead, she stood alone for a moment longer, her brother no longer by her side, having moved away for another goblet of wine, taking Armitage with him, bickering still. Rey forced a smile onto her face as Rose and Jessika scampered up, their masks askew from dancing, their cheeks flushed from laughter and wine.

 

“Reyna, you’ll never guess what we heard about your betrothed…” Rose giggled, quieting with Jessika’s disgusted snort.

 

“He is not her betrothed, he is a merchant who paid to be knighted.” Still, Jess grinned again, leaning forward to whisper: “Sir Hux has a broken manhood. Perhaps if the duchess heard of that, she would let you run off with Ben.”

 

Rey snorted, rolling her eyes even as her heart squeezed with that wish. Instead, she shook her head, looked at her friends. "You do realize that Poe put that forward."

 

The two waiting women looked at each other aghast, lips arranging themselves in pretty grimaces. Jess looked down. "Oh." And then, guiltily: "We may have added onto the rumor."

 

"Well, I only said his breath stinks," Rose insisted. "Jessika..."

 

"I said that he wishes his cock could rise like a rooster in the morn, but is more like a beheaded chicken." Despite her former admission of guilt, the lady beamed, quelling a low cackle before Rose joined in. Passing guests smiled at the group of women as they passed, a little island of mirth in the midst of dancing feet.

 

"Jessika!" Rey clapped her hand over her mouth to hush a laugh. "You are worst than Poe."

 

“Don’t insult her thusly; I’m sure she’s much better than your villain of a brother.” Rey hardly needed to hear the voice to know the speaker, the tensing of her friends being signal enough. She turned, nodding to Armitage.

 

“Villain he may be, but at least he has asked me to dance,” she said lightly, Armitage smiling at her as he offered his hand. She accepted it, a corner of her mouth threatening to quirk downward, but still, she jerked her chin to her ladies, a half-hearted dismissal. 

 

Rose and Jessika curtsied, and Rey was sure that she saw Jessika mouth to her that she would find Ben, send him to interrupt the dance. 

 

She wasn’t sure, finding herself being spun now, Armitage’s hands secure on her waist. She frowned, considered commenting how a true gentleman would know proper dance holds but decided to say nothing. The less conversation she could hold with the man, the better. 

 

It seemed that he didn’t share her thought, his face all too close to hers as he pouted."Some knave has been slandering me tonight, my lady."

 

She didn’t look up at him, more intent on the other dancing couples they passed. She pursed her lips, murmured. "I'm sure it was meant in jest."

 

"Did you hear what they said?" He was trying to catch her eye, she knew he was, and so she obliged, looking at him straight on. She wasn’t sure what his costume was meant to depict, his headdress large and dark, its decoration somewhat like feathers, somewhat like leaves. It reminded her almost of a vulture, which perhaps was a bit on the nose for the man.

 

"Oh, no, my lord," she lied, thankful that the dance allowed her to step apart from him for a moment.She wove in and out among the other dancers, dutifully returning to Armitage, if only for the dance steps. "I only have heard the lutes and laughter tonight."

 

He looked unsatisfied, his hand wrapping around hers tightly, keeping her rooted within an arm's length of him. He seemed to endeavor to smile and was failing miserably, as if he was plagued with a toothache.

 

"But let us talk about other things, lady. Like our dancing. Or perhaps your beauty." He spun her again, Rey doing her best to keep a straight face when his hands returned to her waist, unbidden.

 

"Yes. You are decently good at dancing, though it may be because your feet are too small to step on mine.” She grinned at him wickedly now, though she kept her voice sweet. “Now, Ben's feet are so large he trods on mine when we dance, but I don't mind it."

 

He looked at her for a moment, silent. "Are you sure you didn't hear any of the rumors about me, lady?"

 

"Not a whit. The observation is my own, as my assumption about what all it could mean." She kept her gaze level, ensuring that he knew exactly what she was implying. She was sure that he understood thoroughly, and yet his grip on her tightened, the space between them diminishing.

 

She flushed at his hold, her brow furrowing as she squirmed. To be held like this was something short of scandalous, something more than improper, and he knew it, his breath hot in her ear.

 

“Say what you will, but you’re in my arms and not his. I think for that alone, I am more blessed than he is,” Armitage purred, his lips lightly pressing a kiss to Rey’s jaw.

 

“I do not think you asked to kiss me, sir.” She tried to tug away, scowling at his laugh.

 

“I will be your husband, dear Reyna. Allow me some impropriety.” He paused, reaching a hand up to stroke her cheek, his green eyes twinkling with mirth at her expense. "I'm afraid that my mouth is very dry, as I’m parched from your beauty. I hope my breath does not offend."

 

"No worse than your breath last night, though I find you more vile presently." Rey wrested herself away, aware of the curious eyes on her now. She coughed, looking down at her hands. "If you'll excuse me, sir."

 

She did not bother to curtsy, turning on her heel, her feet quick as she ducked into the crowd, lightly pushing her way through. She broke through the other side of the wall of people and into the courtyard, the torches burning brightly still. She could feel where her face paint had smeared under Armitage’s lips, and her eyes burned from the indignity of it all, her nails digging into her palms as she willed herself not to sob.

 

Far behind her, Armitage stood in the midst of dancers still, his bemused look giving way to a smirk when he saw the back of Lord Solo’s head. It was an easy task to slip near, to approach, the duchess’s heir standing alone now, his gaze wandering from guest to guest. He knew who the young lord was looking for, and if it made him jealous, he would never say. 

 

Jealousy didn’t matter when you had already bought the jewel waiting in the display case. 

 

Still, he sidled up close, his murmur low. “How fares your lordship this evening?”

 

Ben did not even flinch at the question, instead draining his goblet before answering, hardly bothered. “I’m faring fine, though I’d be much better without your company, Master Hux.”

 

His gaze was cold on the red-haired man who seemed to insist on smiling at him still. “I shan’t trouble you a moment more. I merely wanted to ask if you had seen Countess Dameron.” He lowered his voice, as if they were two friends sharing a secret and not rivals who could only feign politeness. “She has been at my side all evening and swears that she does love me, so I would be remiss to not return to her quickly.”

 

For a moment, there was no response, no gesture or sign that the man had heard him, but then Ben’s jaw twitched, and Armitage smirked. He shrugged, waving off the other man. “It’s no matter-- I should probably find the duchess instead and tell her the news.”

 

“Of course. If you’ll excuse me, I need to tend to the other guests.” The two men were aware of how Ben lied, but Armitage merely nodded to him, his smile sickening to Ben.

 

Armitage watched the younger man stalk off, huffing a laugh to himself. Perhaps the man would find little Reyna, perhaps wound her pride and prompt her to actually accept the proposed suit for her hand. If not, no matter-- this was entertainment enough.

 

Armitage turned, flinching as he came toe-to-toe with his grandfather, the old man’s brow stitched together in displeasure. The young merchant shrank in on himself, casting his eyes down. “Grandfather.”

 

“When you are done taunting the young Solo, I need you to come with me.” Sir Thomas’s gaze flickered to the retreating back of the duke-to-be, humming to himself in thought. “Our messenger has come, and has assured me that the news we wait on is coming within the hour.”

 

Armitage’s eyes flashed to Snoke’s, and a smile curled prematurely on his lips. “Do you mean…?”

 

Snoke nodded, the gesture slow and perhaps more measured than any of the steps the courtesans now took, unaware of what was to come. “The king is dead.”

 

“Long live the king.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the possible ill quality of this chapter-- I was exhilarated after finishing the previous one that I couldn't help but keep writing. There is intrigue afoot, and I'm looking forward to exploring all of it with you.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think-- your comments and kudos keep me going, and I am so grateful to you readers.

The moon had replaced the sun long ago when Ben stepped into the courtyard, his chest rising and falling quickly, his breath slipping from his lips in harsh clouds against the chilled air. He shouldn’t be jealous, shouldn’t let a lie from someone as insignificant as Armitage Hux sway him. Yet, the fierce feeling in his chest would not subside, his heart squeezing around the words.

 

With how his mother insisted giving Reyna away to another man, one lie could spell the end of a union between them. He would not let that happen. He couldn’t-- not for the sake of his heart, not for the sake of his conscience, with his foolish promise of years past still hanging above their heads.

 

He did not return from a war to lose her.

 

“Your grace!” Ben blinked at the words, the surprised cry, his eyes coming to settle on her. Rey. She seemed dazed, tearful, her costume’s crown slipping a bit in her wavy hair, her makeup making her appear like a fae instead a mere maid. His heart seized again, and without so much as a word or a backward glance, he was gathering her up in his arms, pulling her closer to him and into the closest dark corner.

 

 _To hell with secrecy_ , he thought, Rey’s gasp sweet and delicious as he covered her mouth with his.

 

There were the murmurs of conversing guests slipping past their spot, the words’ owners unaware of the affection being exchanged. Ben could feel Rey tense slightly, worry lacing her brows, but then he kissed her again, turned so that she was shielded from sight, and she relaxed in his arms.

 

He would give anything to kiss her like this in sunlight, before others, no shame or secrecy, but damn it if it didn’t make the kisses that much sweeter, her soft moans better, her flushed face even lovelier.

 

She was thoroughly his, and he loved her all the more for it.

 

She whimpered against him, seemingly surprised but yielding, her face easily tipping back, mouth slanting against his for a deeper kiss. Still, a moment later, she was pushing him back, her eyes large and sparkling even in the dark.

 

“What has gotten into you, my lord?” Ben huffed at the question, ghosting his thumb across her now swollen lips, wondering if he was still a bit out of his head, wondering if she’d let him kiss her again. She must have seen the look in his eyes, sighing. “Answer me first, if you please, your grace.”

 

“You’re supposed to call me Ben, sweet girl.” She clucked her tongue at him, crossing her arms, a small barricade between her and his broad chest.

 

“And I would if I knew we were truly alone and not just out of sight.” She returned his frown now, but smoothed a hand up his arm, her eyes soft. “Just tell me plainly, Ben: what prompted such affection?”

 

He looked at her for a moment before lowering his head with a groan and burying his nose into the crook of her neck, ashamed. “Your damned suitor… he made a mention of him having your heart and that he would tell my mother of it.”

 

He pulled back, frowning at the smile that was attempting to play on Rey’s lips, her hand soft in his hair as she smoothed it. “Don’t tease me,” he huffed as she laughed, shaking her head.

 

“You are the most fickle lover, your grace. How can I not laugh?” Still, her face softened with seriousness, her hand rounding on his jaw. “Why would you believe a silly thing like that, dear heart? Did I not promise my hand to you just yesterday?”

 

“Aye, you did.” He brightened at the thought, sighing as she brushed a kiss to his cheek now.

 

“I do not blow as hot or as cold as you seem to think I do if you believed such a man as him.” She fixed him with a glare, crossing her arms again. “I should be very cross with you for giving any weight to his lies.”

 

“I swear, my lady, it won’t happen again,” Ben purred, smirking as Rey’s glare slipped, a giggle falling from her lips as he leaned forward, nuzzled her neck. He dropped a kiss to her pulse, taking pleasure in how she sighed. “If you so wish, I could throw him in the manor’s holding cells.”

 

He kissed her again, along her jaw, seemingly thinking out loud. “Or perhaps in the nearest river.”

 

Another kiss, “Or in the courtyard by his breeches.”

 

Another kiss, now at the corner of her mouth. “Whatever so pleases you, my lady.”

 

“You think you are very clever, your grace,” Rey countered, smiling at how Ben rested his forehead against hers.

 

“Aye, but I know that I am not as clever as you are, sweet girl.” She leaned up and kissed him then, her arms around his neck, her pretty lips hot and desperate against his.

 

When she retreated again, Ben scarcely remembered how to breathe, his breaths coming now in haggard pants. “Reyna, please, just… promise me…”

 

“What, my lord? Promise to spurn all other men? Promise my hand once again? Promise you that I am yours, as you are mine?” She chuckled, kissing the tip of his nose. “To promise those things would be to offer reassurances. You know that I am yours, sweet love.”

 

“Good,” he leaned to kiss her again, content. He should know by now not to doubt her-- even in childhood, she had been skilled at righting wrongs and keeping her word, especially to him. Even when he felt completely powerless and ignored, she soothed him, counseled him, gave him courage. It was because of her that he had gone forth and found glory with the king, and with her, he hoped to find honor at home.

 

He smiled, but only for a moment now, his ears perking up. Rey was still in his arms as well, and she was looking past him, squinting in the distance.

 

There was the pounding of approaching hooves, a yelling-- no, pleading-- that rang with a note of haunting desperation.

 

Rey was scampering past him now, and Ben hissed her name in worry as he followed, the woman calling up the posted soldiers manning the castle walls:

 

“Open the gates!”

 

“My lady, we don’t know who….”

 

“Open the gates, _now!_ ” Her voice was shrill, her glare fierce, and now the command was being echoed, the heavy wooden doors parting slowly.

 

There was a crowd filtering out into the yard, their talk a small roar that quieted as the shouts grew louder, closer, more desperate. Pushing to the front of the gathering crowd was Poe, and at his elbow, Leia.

 

The doors had parted enough to let a single horse through, and it seemed that was enough, the yelling coming from only one voice, not a litany of others. A dappled gray horse sprinted through the parted doors, its rider clinging to its broad back. Their breathing was ragged, the beast’s legs collapsing under itself when the rider pulled its reins, brought it to a sudden stop. “Luke!” Ben gaped, rushing to the rider, pulling him from his horse.

 

Rey whitened at the exclamation, rushing to the man’s other side. Luke was a holy man, Ben’s uncle, a priest. To see a man of God with his simple robes ripped and dirtied and smeared with blood was to see a kingdom threatened. To see him sob was to see that kingdom fall.

 

His tears were for good reason, Rey’s throat constricting with her own sob as he cried out to the crowd,“The king-- the king is dead!”

 

And with that, despite the tight grip of both Ben’s and Rey’s hands, Luke sagged between them, exhausted and all but defeated.

  


* * *

 

The manor physician’s widow, Maz, said that the blood was not Luke’s but that the clergyman should still rest. He didn’t listen, his eyes focused on the great manor’s fire as it crackled in the hearth, his cheeks gaunt, eyes hollow. On his brow, one could see the guilt sitting there, the belief that he should have died along his liege instead of being spared because he was God’s man.

 

Leia considered her twin brother, his grief, his lonesome figure sitting there considering the flames, before turning back to the makeshift tribunal gathered around her.

 

It was a ridiculous and sad sight, everyone still in their celebration clothes and costumes, makeup and paint smeared, tired eyes hiding behind askew masks... and it occurred to her that it was perhaps deserved. For too long, she and the people of the kingdom had been lulled into believing that peace was here, that it was outside forces they would need to be worried about.

 

Yet, if Luke was to be believed, it had been the king’s own foot soldiers who had turned on their liege, who had gutted him, his advisor, his advisor’s sons in cold blood, in the middle of the road they traveled to home. With these senseless murders, the throne was left bare, and the first six in line gone.

 

There was a man ahead of Leia in line, but he was a prince in Portugal-- King Windu’s youngest nephew-- and with the murmured dissent already among the people about accepting an outsider to the throne, it was likely that he would never be told.

 

The crown would be on Leia’s head, and she did not like that idea at all.

 

The Windu family had been close to her family when she was younger, in the days after the civil war. It had been King Windu who had granted her father permission to wed her mother, and it had been Windu’s wife that she had served when she was no older than Rey.

 

She had met her husband, the late Duke Solo, and had united their two duchies under one family. Anything that she was, everything she had ever done, was because of the king, and now he was dead and she could not properly mourn the man for need of filling his seat.

 

This wouldn’t do.

 

She looked out across this makeshift council surrounding the long table, scraps from the evening’s banquet still being cleared by servants, and looked into the faces of those looking to her for her decision.

 

To her right was Ben, whose left hand never left hers, his grip fierce, his lips pressed into a flat line. She didn’t need to look at him to know that he felt her pressure, felt the weight that hung over the family, waiting to crush them all underfoot.

 

To his right were the Damerons, both siblings seated and serious, talking between themselves. At Rey’s right elbow was Sir Armitage Hux, and Leia quietly watched the girl wretch the man’s hand from her shoulder, her gaze suspicious. She couldn’t find it in herself to be angry at the girl and her refusal to wed. In a moment like this, any outsider was unwelcome, and Sir Armitage did not seem to understand that he wasn’t fully welcome at the table.

 

His grandfather seemed to understand better, standing farther back, still within earshot of conversation, but not close enough to intrude. Sir Thomas Snoke caught her gaze, his quick nod polite and respectful. There seemed to be an odd air sitting about him at the moment, but Leia pushed it aside. After such a death, there truly wasn’t a right way to react, and Sir Thomas’s neutral expression was no exception.

 

Further down the table were the Ersos, and then the Mothmas, then the Lars: all minor nobles in comparison, their households’ heads being an earl, viscount and baron, respectively. By no means was this an extensive and complete tribunal: there were several families missing, unable to attend the celebration this night. Leia had dispatched several messengers to those families to check their well-being, their safety, their willingness to let others speak on their behalf at such a crucial moment.

 

Still, they had no claim to the throne--not as much as the three people immediately to her right. Leia’s gut lurched in fear at the thought, especially as she looked to Rey’s face.

 

 _She is too young for the throne-- she is too young for all of this,_ she thought, frowning to herself. She forced herself from her thoughts, Lord Cassian’s cough drawing every conversation to a close, a silence falling on them like a funeral shroud. For a moment, only the fire crackling disrupted the peace, each person looking around at the others uneasily.

 

Leia sighed and pushed herself up from her seat, her voice quiet but clear, still seeming to ring in the emptying manor, a leaving guest or two possibly hearing her as she spoke now.

 

“We have been robbed of a king tonight. A great king, and several great men to succeed him.” She paused, considering the eyes trained on her, the attention rapt. “I am too old to carry this country into the future, past this turmoil. I do not wish to sit on the throne, only to find the men who committed this treason against our king.”

 

“Thus, I pass my stake onto my son, Duke Solo.” There were no gasps of surprise, only sharp intakes of breath, a choked refusal from her son under his breath, but she clutched his hand, clutched it tight.

 

“You have served the king these past six years at war-- indeed, at this table only you and Count Dameron can claim such a thing. Youth is on your side, my dear son, and I would not ask you to lift this burden if I did not think you could handle it.”

 

Ben wouldn’t meet her eyes-- she didn’t expect him to, couldn’t beg him to. He seemed to glare at the table, the fist resting on his knee clenching tight before relaxing. His nod was curt, but she could see the resolution in his eyes, his reluctant agreement.

 

She turned now to the other nobles, her lips trembling even as she arranged them in a wane smile. “By birthright, he has the right to take the throne, but does he have your support to rule?”

 

There was silence for a moment, and then a quiet note of confidence rung out. “Aye, my lady.” Rey’s eyes met Leia’s and then Ben’s, Poe nodding alongside her. “The Damerons pledge our allegiance to you, your grace, if you will have us.”

 

“We pledge as well,” Cassian murmured. In a moment, Viscountess Mothma and Baron Lars echoed their assent, a small smattering of talk breaking out, weighing the strengths and weaknesses of the decision.

 

Leia didn’t listen, instead looking to Ben, whose eyes were closed, brow furrowed. She leaned close, squeezing his hand. “It is for the best, Benjamin,” she murmured, watching his eyes flutter open, his nod uneasy.

 

Farther off, over his shoulder, Armitage and his grandfather exchanged a glance, a nod, the younger clearing his throat. “Now that is settled, what of my suit to Lady Dameron, your grace?”

 

He purposefully ignored the king-to-be’s glare, the other nobles at the table frowning at the impudence. Leia could scarcely sigh at the question when Rey cut her eyes at the man standing over her.

 

“Master Hux, while I do appreciate your devotion to my hand, you speak out of turn. Our king has died in a street like a dog, and you rush to marriage?” She scoffed, shaking her head, looking to Leia. “Your grace, with your permission, I would fain to talk of marriage only after King Windu is buried and our lord Ben is crowned.”

 

“Then tomorrow, I shall go and retrieve his body, my lady,” Armitage replied, his smile and bow to Ben disingenuous. “Only so that your lordship does not need to trouble himself.”

 

“Thank you, sirrah,” Ben replied dryly, ignoring how his mother pinched his palm. “Perhaps, if your mission is successful and if we are able, we can bury the king in two days.”

 

“It won’t be as grand as the man deserved, but we can make sure he gets to heaven, your grace,” Poe murmured, clapping a hand on Ben’s shoulder.

 

Ben nodded, then paused, throat thick with emotion, looking to Rey, her brother, and then Leia. “The king is dead.”

 

“Long live the king.” The echo was quiet, solemn, the wooden chair legs scraping the rough floor louder than the exclamation, the meeting now adjourned.

 

Ben sat a little longer, watching his mother drift to his uncle, their words soft. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Armitage bid Rey goodnight, the man leaning forward to kiss her cheek. His jaw clenched, and then relaxed, Rey stepping away before the gesture could land, her brother stepping forward to mutter something more.

 

“Tomorrow, I’ll accompany you to bring back the king’s body.” Poe held up a hand to silence Armitage’s stuttered refusal, his growled words satisfying enough for Ben: “I would rather he was brought home by a soldier who fought alongside him than a merchant who paid everything to stay put.”

 

Rey’s hand was soft on his, Ben lifting his eyes to her as she lingered at his side a moment longer, her eyes wet and soft with unshed tears, her teeth worrying on her bottom lip. A gentle squeeze and she let go, trailing off to his mother’s side, dutiful as always.

 

* * *

 

It was this sense of duty that later carried Poe along the long hallway between Rey’s and Ben’s rooms, a missive clenched tightly in his palm. His knock was soft, her door swinging open immediately, her face clean of the earlier paint, her hair plaited for the night.

 

She had been crying, as many were in the castle tonight, but Poe still passed the note over, his kiss soft on his sister’s forehead. He turned to go, to tell the king-to-be that his will was done, to consider this shift in power, when Rey’s words paused him, her voice shaken to the quick.

 

“Did you read the message before you delivered it?” Her brother looked at her, and she should feel ashamed to have even questioned her own flesh and blood, but his gaze assured her of his understanding. These were dangerous times, and some guilty man may linger nearby, prepared to tear everything all the more asunder.

 

“It is not my business to read, sweet sister.” He dipped his head, his murmur low. “I only have hope of what it says, and I shall only know at your leisure. Until then, goodnight.”

 

He turned, but then paused again, turning back to clutch at his sister’s hand, to cup her face. “These are strange times in this castle, in this kingdom. Be afraid.”

 

He looked into her wide eyes, her knit brows, wondering when he had betrayed his parents to issue his sister such advice-- but it was only because of what lurked that he had not seen coming, the death that seemed to just be arriving, instead of ending, at the castle door.

 

“You will only be safe if you are afraid, sister. Nothing is as it seems.”

 

Another glance, and then he was gone, down the hall, footsteps quiet on the stone. Rey pushed the door shut behind her, hands shaking as she attempted to smooth the parchment, read in the candle by her bed.

 

_Meet me at the chapel after breakfast, sweet girl._

 

Hope was perhaps alright to have in this moment, Rey pressing a chaste kiss to the paper before tossing it into her bedchamber’s fireplace, watching the edges curl and blacken before fading into ash.

 

In such times as these, it did one well to be too careful. To be afraid.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight break-- I got a bit caught up in my modern, rich person AU, but rest assured, I did not forget about this one!

The morning light was still gray, barely blue from the rising sun, and yet Rey was wide awake, fiddling with her sewing in the near dark. On her lap laid a white gown, one that she had designed a month ago, had created to busy her fingers and mind as she waited for the war to be over, waited for her fate to be decided in one marriage or another.

 

It wasn’t quite a wedding gown, and it would not do for the mourning that had been thrust upon the castle. Perhaps it would do for a coronation, but something sat oddly alongside that thought. Still, she pricked her finger, bringing the digit to her mouth to soothe as she faltered.

 

She hadn’t slept at all, not since she had left last night’s odd council, not since Ben had been declared king to be. True, for all intents and purposes, he was king now, but there was no crown resting on his curls, and she could still breathe easily.

 

Something was wrong. The fact was as apparent as the fog that stretched in the fields surrounding the manor, creeping around the ankles of casual travellers and the horses being mounted for the leaving search party. 

 

However,  _ what  _ was wrong was less apparent. One could owe the feeling to the still fresh news that a king was dead in his own country, after being shielded by God for so long on the battlefield. It was strange, it was ill-fitting, it was indeed wrong.

 

But there was something more to it, and Rey pricked her finger with her needle, hissing as a drop of blood welled and then stained the fabric in her hand. She cast aside the garment she had been embroidering, rubbing her eyes, scrubbing her hands across her face. 

 

She needn’t a mirror to know how dark her eyes were, how exhausted she was. In a few minutes, some serving woman, maybe Rose, maybe Jessika, maybe even Lady Jyn, would come to bid her to rise, to come see the venturing men off on their journey. After her brother, her supposed fiance, and a few of their men left to recover the fallen king’s body, she would go to the chapel.

 

She would tell the duchess that it was to pray for the king’s absolution as he passed into heaven, ask for the Lord’s blessing on Ben’s crowning the next day, to beg for protection for her betrothed and her brother as they walk among possibly dishonest men.

 

It would be a lie, but that is what she would tell Leia.

 

Rey did not know exactly why Ben had bid her to the chapel, but she wasn’t daft. She had a guess. 

 

_ “The moment my uncle returns to his chapel here, I am dragging you there and marrying you.”  _

She remembered his words and shivered, perhaps from the cold, perhaps from the hindsight that marred everything that settled into her mind. He had said it teasingly, had said it to soothe her, promise her, show her how earnest he was to join hands with her.

 

He hadn’t known that it was to become a necessity. 

 

Rey inspected the garment on her lap again, her trained eye and hands picking over it now, calculating and severe. She could be confident in her solitude, could feign nonchalance to any eyes possibly peeking in. 

 

There had to be eyes peeking in, somewhere. She had been raised in the manor of a duchess. When she was younger, there was regularly spies in and out of the doors, sometimes banished, sometimes dead. When the war had taken hold, called the king away, the spies went with him, and only gossips remained.

 

Now, the king was dead, and danger lurked. Poe’s words crept up the back of her neck, seized the nape of it. 

 

_ “These are strange times in this castle, in this kingdom. Be afraid. You will only be safe if you are afraid, sister. Nothing is as it seems.” _

 

Rey picked up her needle again, resumed the delicate work. Perhaps Poe was right, but she could not be afraid when she ventured to the chapel. 

 

Only brave, and resolute.

 

* * *

 

 

It seemed wrong for the chapel to be as empty as it was, Ben drawing himself short of the doorway, peering through it instead. Light filtered down to the floor, through the stained glass window, the only thing of beauty in the otherwise neglected place. 

 

His mother had mentioned to him in passing this morning that the church would have to be cleaned before the funeral, before the coronation, but he insisted that he would take care of it, that she should rest, focus on the more important things, like bidding the people to come and bear witness. He insisted that he would lead the servants in cleaning the mess, that he merely had to catalogue the damage of time and lack of use, as his mother and Rey had ventured to the village church every Sabbath for sermon, to perform charity, to make up for their lack of a personal chaplain, their own minister, with Luke off at war with Poe and himself.

 

It seemed wrong to marry Rey in such a filthy, abandoned place, especially when she deserved to be married in a cathedral, a palace, somewhere as beautiful as she. Then again, it seemed wrong to marry her in haste, out of desperation, but it was God’s will, and not Ben’s, that Fate was altered as it was.

 

He ventured farther in, his hand always on the sword at his side, careful, always looking, always listening. With King Windu’s death, one could never be too careful. His mind was still whirring, stirring, trying to make sense of the great and terrifying honor that had been thrust upon him the night before.

 

He hadn’t slept, and he doubted that he would any time soon.

 

He had been declared king. Never in his life did he imagine that it would happen, and he never wanted it less than now. One could call him unambitious-- he would call himself loyal to the crown, and content to not have it rest on his head. 

 

There was something twisting around this odd development, the bloody dispatch of Windu and his advisor and their party. He wondered if he and Poe had been watched as well, how closely the entire royal war party had been watched, how heavy the purses of the spies were now. 

 

Or if there was anyone paying the price for letting he and Lord Dameron slip past, unnoticed, to relative safety. Ben huffed, grimacing at the dust his shoes seemed to be kicking up as he walked, turned, mused. 

 

Some would say that his overthinking was a flaw, something to be discouraged when action was obviously needed-- but he hardly knew what action  _ needed  _ to be taken, much less against who. 

 

If he had his way, if he were to become a tyrant, he would get rid of that merchant, Hux. There was something untrustworthy about him, but he knew that he could not voice that to anyone, save perhaps Rey and his uncle, without being accused of jealousy. Maybe the green eyes of envy clouded his vision, but he was sure of what he saw whenever the man approached Rey-- lust, and not for the woman, but her standing.

 

Ben grit his teeth, his grip tightening on his sword absentmindedly, a bad-habited twitch. He didn’t hear the approaching soft footsteps, the sigh and cough of an old man.

 

“It is unbecoming of a king to pace.”

 

Ben paused in his path, lifting his head to look at his uncle as he entered the small church. In the manor, if the keep was the largest room, the grandest, then the church that the Skywalker clan had built eons ago was the humblest and the smallest. 

 

It suited Luke well, and Ben was grateful to see his uncle, in his simple brown robe, his hair neat and graying, back among the stones. It was almost as if things were right again, as if there was nothing to worry about, nothing to think on, as if they could go back to the times of peace. 

 

But no, they couldn’t. His uncle’s greeting was enough to remind him of that, and the young man shook his head, frowned.

 

“I am no king.”

 

“Not according to the council, your mother, or a certain maid,” Luke’s brows lifted, more in knowledge than curiosity, and if he had been younger, Ben would have flushed, denied it. Not today. Not after he had visited his uncle late last night, when he couldn’t sleep, when he knew the old man would be up, mumbling last rites and prayers under his breath.

 

“I wasn’t supposed to be king. I have no knowledge of how to rule a country, how to keep peace.” Ben watched his uncle approach his old pulpit, wipe the dust away, settle the heavy book of God onto it again. His voice cracked, the weakness he’d never admit to anyone but this holy man before him.

 

“I don’t think I can.”

 

“Many men do not think they can rule,” Luke mused, opening the bible before him, fingers skimming across the pages carefully. “However, the men who do not think they can rule are often more just and better than the men who insist that they rule instead.”

 

He lifted his eyes to his nephew, fixed him with his blue eyes, let them pierce, like they had so many years before, when he was the tutor and his nephew was the pupil, rather than priest and duke. “Better it be you that carries the crown than some other men that were in your company last night.”

 

“Do you mean Master Hux?” Ben could have winced at his excited blurt, especially as his uncle sighed, lifted a brow. Still, he felt vindicated when the man opposite him nodded wearily, brows furrowing as he turned his face down again, to scan the text before him.

 

“Mark that man. There is something about him that unsettles my soul, turns my stomach.” Luke shook his head, exhaling sharply with a slight shudder. Before his nephew could smile though, he wagged his finger, frown light on his lips.

 

“While I do not perhaps approve of this hasty union you have asked me to arrange between yourself and Reyna-- it is too rash, too sudden, too ill-advised, like a lightning bolt striking and fading before you can say that it lightens… I would be a sinner if I said that I did not prefer it over our Lady Dameron joining hands with this Hux fellow. Something of him bodes ill, and I do not like it.”

 

“Your willingness is all we need, uncle,” Ben murmured, reaching out to clasp Luke’s hand in his. “Though I know not how to rule, I do know how to love, and I shall treat Reyna like the queen she shall be.”

 

“I know it, nephew.” The two smiled at each other, no matter how wanely, and for a moment, Ben’s heart was calm. With the drawing footsteps, it quickened, and as he turned, saw Rey’s hazel eyes brighten at him, it seemed to escape in a full gallop.

 

“Is there to be a marriage, my lords?” Jyn’s teasing voice was a lilt, her smile wide and shared with Luke as Rey rushed forward, into Ben’s arms, her lips alighting quickly on his cheeks.

 

“If she will still have me, I hope so,” Ben replied, his bride huffing at him.

 

“If I was unwilling, I would not have come. But you bid me to come, and as I was your wife in another life, I came,” Rey sighed, her lips closing in content as Ben pressed a kiss to her forehead.

 

“If I were a bitter man, I would say there is too much kissing before the vows, but in such times as we find ourselves, love is needed in every corner, if it can be supplied.” Luke motioned the entwined pair forward, beckoned Lady Jyn to step closer as well. “We will make short work of this. Though it would be prudent to wait, there is no time.”

 

“We shall have to pray that Heaven smiles on this union and does not bring sorrow to it after,” Jyn mused, watching how the two lovers held onto each other, looked at each other, a mix of awe and shyness, admiration and trust, softness and yet a fierceness seeming to temper their gazes. 

 

There was all too much, and Jyn would perhaps warn Rey, when the lovers came apart, when they had to slip back into their expected roles, outside of the chapel, that their love needed to be guarded by moderation… but for the moment, she said nothing, only looking to how the sunlight, dappled by stained glass, shone on the two.

 

A king and his queen. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm hersisterskeeper on Tumblr, HerSisKeeper on Twitter, and I'm always up for chatting!


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